The Career and the Cripple
by hpsavvy
Summary: They're opposites in every way, the girls from districts Two and Three. Will the oddest partnership in Games history triumph in the first Quarter Quell? A story of friendship, rebellion and sacrifice.
1. Chosen

The moment Theta Honeyman read my name, I knew this was my year, my Games. Our district's escort was new this year, and called the female tribute – me – before the male, giving me time to revel in my new status. Even having prepared for this moment for years, I'd expected to at least feel nervous onstage. Instead, I was filled with anticipation, the same muted buzz that accompanied a particularly intense training session.

Honestly, the fact that this year was a Quell, the first Quarter Quell, hadn't affected us much. I'm sure the rule change had been hell on the outlying districts, but it had probably been the smoothest Reaping ever for One, Two and Four.

I fixed my eyes on Theta Honeyman's orange and pink wig, trying without success to follow one lock of hair to the top of the elaborately twisted tower. Last year's escort, the one Two'd had since before I was born, had favored pastels, making this neon confection the more shocking by comparison.

Theta called my district partner, a boy named Quintus. He swaggered to the stage, shouldering people aside as he came. "Excellent! Just marvelous! _Such_ a stunning pair!" our Capitol escort trilled. "Shake hands, dears, and let's have a big smile for the cameras!"

I stepped forward and took Quintus' outstretched hand, squeezing harder than was strictly necessary. The monstrous blond smiled broadly at me, then turned to face the audience. All of District Two went wild, cheering the tributes they had chosen to win the 25th Hunger Games.

Two Peacekeepers flanked me as I walked toward the Justice Building, trotting to keep up with my longer stride. I pulled the door open and was engulfed in the arms of my mentor. Varius de Luca had volunteered at age sixteen, and won the 11th Games without touching a single weapon as part of a bet. If anything, his hand-to-hand combat technique had only improved in his fourteen years of mentoring. He wasn't prone to hugging.

As if listening to my thoughts, Varius withdrew, clapping me on the shoulder with enough force to buckle my knees. "Nice job, Salotti," he said. "If anyone can break One's winning streak, it's you. Let's get you on the train."

Across the room, I could see Quintus exchanging goodbyes with his grinning father and tearful baby sisters. I spun on my heel and followed Varius out.

Theta Honeyman met us on the train, sweeping forward in a stifling cloud of perfume to usher me toward my compartment. "Here you are, dear," she said, waving me through the door. "I'm sure you'll want to freshen up. Clothing is in the dresser by the bed, cosmetics are in the top drawer."

I rolled my eyes once she'd turned away.

"Give me ten minutes to beautify myself," I said wryly to my mentor. "Then we can watch the other Reapings."

Eight and a half minutes later, I rejoined Varius in the corridor, and we found Quintus and his mentor in the viewing room, already searching for the best commentary on the Reapings. My fellow tribute flashed me another toothy smile, but said nothing. Our mentors exchanged small talk until Quintus decided on a channel and put the remote on a glass end table.

Once the three of us had settled onto the overstuffed couch – Varius, typically, paced behind us, unwilling or unable to just sit – the tension seemed to evaporate.

"So, Salotti, you and me, huh?" Quintus was _still_ grinning. "I have to say, I'm not surprised. I've seen you train. We'll make a good team. And when the time comes, you'll be a worthy opponent. After all, you're almost as good as me."

I arched an eyebrow. "Is he always this deluded?" I asked, looking over Quintus' shoulder at his mentor.

She laughed, revealing a row of gold teeth that began with her top left incisor and ended with the first molar on that side. Allison Romano had won her Games four years ago by taking the hammer intended for her skull in the side of the face, then decapitating her final opponent with a sword before passing out cold. "I prefer to think he's confident," she replied. "Quintus is right about teaming up, though. He's been training since he was eight, and you've been working with Varius since-"

"Since she was five," my mentor interjected. "They're Careers. They were born for this, just like you and I were, Romano. Stop jawing and turn up the TV. We'll talk alliances later."

For the most part, this year's Reapings were unremarkable. Because of the rules of the Quarter Quell, there were no volunteers. Each district's votes had been tallied the day before, so all that was left was for the escorts to call the names, one male and one female.

The pair from One was blond and beautiful, as usual. Both tributes smiled and waved at the cameras, seeming unsurprised that their district had picked them for the Games. I watched my Reaping silently, smiling a little when I saw the digital Quintus' grin fade as I compressed his hand. I missed seeing the boy from Three, but saw the girl limp toward the stage, dragging a stiffly disobedient leg.

Four was the last district that held my attention, since they were potential Career alliance material. Both the boy and girl looked a couple of years younger than me, and clearly neither had expected to be Reaped, but they didn't shame themselves by showing fear or hesitation. I'd assess them during training.

The rest went by in a blur. When the girl from Ten stepped forward, Varius tapped my arm, saying, "Take her out early. She looks strong for an outlier." I nodded, refocusing my attention in time to see the boy from Eleven stagger forward. He was young, scrawny, and underfed – no competition there. His district partner and the pair from Twelve were similarly average.

When the program was over, I bid my mentor goodnight, nodded in Allison's direction, and retreated to my compartment to begin my nightly regimen of strength and flexibility exercises. Today was the first day since I turned twelve that I hadn't sparred with Varius in the Training Center – my usual afternoon routine coincided with the Reaping. I knew I'd be training harder than ever once we reached the Capitol, but my body still felt jumpy and underworked.

When, after an hour of work, I'd failed to break a sweat, I gave up and slid into bed. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.


	2. Remade

I woke abruptly to find pale light streaming through the window. There was also a hand clamped tightly across my nose and mouth, suffocating me. Reflexively, I grabbed my attacker's wrist, digging my thumbs into a soft pressure point, and heaved us both up and forward, my shoulder connecting with what felt like someone's chin.

"Could be better, Salotti," my mentor scolded, rubbing his square jaw as he moved into view. "If we were in the arena, you'd be dead."

"If we were in the arena, I'd be sleeping lightly and armed to the teeth. Anyone snuck up on me like that, I'd slit his throat before he managed to lay a finger on me," I replied.

"Let's hope so. I've put too much work into you to see you get killed in your sleep by one of those District One airheads. Now get up! We eat at seven, so you have less than an hour to finish your workout."

Varius was out the door before I could reply, so I sighed, dropped to the floor, and started counting push-ups.

We arrived at the Capitol shortly after breakfast.

The meal itself had been a tedious affair – I'd taken slow sips of my mud-textured protein shake while watching Theta Honeyman, still in a robe and slippers, pound on Quintus' door until he emerged, blond hair looking like a particularly untidy haystack. My fellow tribute had plopped himself in an overstuffed chair by the table and proceeded to gobble down no fewer than _six_ cinnamon buns while I looked on in awe, pink straw dangling limply from my mouth. Some mentors were stricter than others, it seemed, even in Two.

The train had just begun to decelerate when our escort reemerged from the direction of her compartment, clicking toward us in a pair of towering heeled sandals. The shoes were orange today, I noticed, accentuating the matching stripes in her hair, which was now arranged in absurd ringlets.

"Stand up, dears," she ordered, ushering us toward the glass sliding door through which we'd entered yesterday. "We're almost there! Get ready for your first sight of civilization! I'm sure everyone will be ever so excited to catch a glimpse of you."

Indeed, I could see a blur of colors on the other side of the glass, resolving themselves into alien-looking people as the train slowed to a halt.

"Perfect, we're right on schedule!" Theta glanced at the handheld electronic device she never seemed to be without, patting her curls with her free hand. "Where can your mentors have gone?" she fussed, glancing toward the back of the train. "Well, no matter. I'm to escort you straight away to your stylists in the Remake Center. Your mentors will be absolutely delighted to see you all cleaned up for your grand entrance this evening."

I briefly considered things that would delight Varius. New target dummies for our Training Center back home, maybe. Me winning the Quarter Quell, certainly. Me dressed up Capitol-style? Never.

Quintus, for once, seemed to be thinking along the same lines. He flashed his trademark grin first at me, then at our escort, saying, "Not as delighted as we'll be to see them, I bet! I wonder how many stylists will die trying to stuff Allison into a dress?"

We both laughed, our mirth doubling as Theta shot us a horrified look. "This is exactly why I'd hoped to be assigned to District One when I became an escort!" she said. "Their tributes always have such lovely manners."

"Don't they?" I said, smiling innocently down at her. "Such a shame we'll have to break their well-mannered necks in two weeks or so." I smirked at Quintus over her head.

Theta looked like she was on the verge of tears. She was silent as our little threesome pushed through the crowd of Capitol onlookers and reporters, but as we reached the doors of the Remake Center, she turned to glare at me again. "Neera, dear, you'll never get sponsors if you continue to make jokes at other people's expense," she said. You're quite pretty for a girl from District Two, and you should use it to your advantage. Charm them!"

I went very still.

"You're wrong, Theta," I said, barely loud enough to be heard over the noise of the crowd behind us. "With or without sponsors, I'll win these Games. Not because I'm charming or pretty, but because I'm strong, fast and brutal. If you don't understand what makes a victor, maybe you really should try to get reassigned to that bimbo from One." Not waiting to gauge her reaction, I pushed through the doors into the air-conditioned Remake Center with Quintus at my heels.

Our prep teams were waiting for us in the lobby. I saw one lilac-skinned woman gasp in delight as she saw Quintus, turning to murmur something to the man beside her. He shook his head briefly before walking in my direction.

"Good afternoon," he said, his voice smooth and modulated. "I'm Phoenix Rave, your stylist. These," he gestured to the bevy of odd-looking people behind him, "are Thalia, Tenobia and Flare."

I watched four other people introducing themselves to my district partner a few yards away. When I looked back, Phoenix and the others were staring at me expectantly. "Uh, right," I muttered. "I'm Neera Salotti, tribute from District Two. Can we get on with it? Please?" I added, striving for politeness.

That seemed to be some kind of predetermined cue, because my style team surged forward, nearly trampling Phoenix in an effort to get to me. They herded me into a side room filled with shiny metal surfaces and multicolored bottles, talking all the while.

"Oh my, yes, Neera!" said the younger woman – Tenobia, I thought. "You're ever so much taller in real life than on TV!" It was true; I towered over all four members of my prep team. Tenobia's spiky blue hair barely reached my nose.

"Don't say that like it's a bad thing, Tenobia!" the lilac-tinted stylist – Thalia, by process of elimination – rebuked the other woman. "Just because you've always been bitter about being short and too scared of needles to have a leg extension operation doesn't mean you need to criticize poor Neera. It's not her fault she so dreadfully tall! They don't have cosmetic surgery in the districts, you know."

Tenobia opened her mouth to reply, but Phoenix cut her off with a raised hand. "That's enough, ladies. Neera, please have a seat here while Tenobia and Flare prepare a depilatory solution." He turned back to me. "I'm going to make the final adjustments to your chariot costume. I'll be back in a few hours." And he left me to the mercy of the terrible trio.

They proceeded to undress me and spread my entire body with "depilatory solution," which was evidently Capitol code for hair-removing cream with the consistency and scent of liquid shit. Once I was properly hairless, they hosed me down and guided me to a tub of fluid that fizzed and stung my skin. Flare unpinned and shampooed my hair while Tenobia filed my nails into soft ovals. I thought points would be more useful in the arena, but what did I know? After what seemed like ages, Thalia helped me into a machine that instantly dried my skin and left my hair smooth and shining.

"My goodness, she's almost beautiful now that she's clean!" Flare exclaimed in a tone that I decided was insultingly shocked.

"Much better than that girl last year," Tenobia agreed. I bared my teeth menacingly at her, not appreciating the slight to my predecessor. She backed out of reach rapidly, saying, "I'll tell Phoenix she's done."

Thalia contemplated my hair as Tenobia hurried out the door. "There's certainly a lot of it, isn't there?" she asked rhetorically. "If only it wasn't such a dreadful color…" Thalia brushed a hand over her own pinkish locks as if wishing the dye would magically transfer itself to my dark brown hair.

I suppressed my momentary surge of nervousness, reminding myself that I'd never seen a tribute with dyed hair during the Games. Imagine trying to sneak up on someone in the arena with your head covered in pink glitter. I shuddered.

And then Phoenix was back, shadowed by Tenobia, whose blue spikes seemed to be positively sparking with excited energy. "Oh, Neera, wait until you see your costume! It's absolutely stunning!" She kept babbling, apparently forgetting that she'd been afraid of me not ten minutes ago.

Phoenix unzipped the garment bag he carried while standing behind me, so once he zipped the costume up my side, adjusted it to his liking, and turned me to face the mirrored back wall, I was indeed stunned.

"I. Will. Not. Wear. This. In public." My voice was toneless.

"But- Oh, District Two, masonry! It's perfect!" For the first time, Phoenix seemed flustered.

"It's awful! No one will ever take me seriously after they've seen me in this!" I was almost shouting as I struggled to figure out how to remove the costume.

My prep team was in the process of backing away, wide-eyed, when the door swung open again. I spun around to see Varius staring at me in shock. I felt a wave of relief engulf me.

"Thank God, Varius! Where have you been?" As soon as the words left my lips, I waved the question away. "Never mind that! Tell these-" I paused, unable to think of an appropriate word. "Tell my stylists that I will _not_, under any circumstances, be wearing this," I gestured to my body in disgust, "in front of everyone in Panem! It's indecent!"

By the end of my rant, Varius had regained his usual composure. Slouching against the far wall, he replied, "The chariots roll in forty minutes, Salotti, so it's that or nothing. Come on, it could be worse and you know it."

"_This or nothing?_" I screeched. "This _is_ nothing! What am I, some caveman's whore?" I turned back to the mirror, hoping my costume had grown inches – no, _feet_ – longer since the last time I'd looked. It hadn't.

I was wearing a skintight bodysuit that was patterned to look like pink marble. It was sleeveless and covered _maybe_ three inches of my thighs. Phoenix tried to describe how good it would look once my bare skin had been painted to match the suit. The idea, apparently, was to make me look like a moving marble statue of myself.

Varius had begun to smirk. If I hadn't known he could kill me more easily than most people could sneeze, I'd have punched him. Instead, I squeezed my eyes shut and counted backwards from fifty, trying to calm down. My mentor was right, it could have been worse. At least they'd notice me.

Sensing that the danger had passed, my prep team scurried forward to work on my hair, nails and makeup while Phoenix crossed the room to confer with Varius. I allowed Thalia, Tenobia and Flare to finish up, only giving in to my anger long enough to slap Flare's hands away when he tried to apply some kind of softening lotion to the calluses on my palms. That's all I needed, hands so smooth that my sword would twist away from me at some crucial moment in the arena.


	3. Showcased

After another small eternity, they were ushering me out the door and into the elevator. When we reached the ground floor, I saw that I was among the last tributes to arrive. I watched the girl from One smirk as she took in Neera Salotti, Caveman Whore Deluxe model. I wondered if there was a way to kill her during the bloodbath and make it look like an accident.

Theta clicked up to us in heels even higher than the ones she'd worn on the train, a somewhat manic smile on her face. "There you are, dear, whatever took you so long? No matter, you look positively gorgeous! Oh, your makeup is perfect! And those shoes, they're to die for!"

Against my better judgment, I'd permitted Thalia to guide my feet into a pair of sandals with heels to rival Theta's. They made me at least four inches taller than my actual five-foot-eleven, but at least they looked like they'd make fair weapons in a pinch.

Varius and I walked toward the District Two chariot – I could tell which one it was because Quintus was standing in the back, being fussed over by his blushing prep team. He was dressed as a living marble statue too, but it somehow looked much less ridiculous on him. He really was handsome, now that his hair had been gelled into submission.

"Looking good, Salotti!" he called over his stylist's head.

"Same to you, Tiziano," I replied, hauling myself into the chariot despite the best efforts of my traitorous shoes.

Behind us, there was a loud crash. Quintus and I both spun around, reaching for weapons that weren't at our sides.

The girl from Three had fallen over, meeting the cement floor with much clanging of metal. District Three produced computers and other electronic gadgets, and the stylists this year had made the unfortunate decision to dress their tributes in what looked like sheet metal tents. The boy reached down to help his partner up, carefully supporting most of her weight. Even under the silver makeup, I could see that her face was tensed in agony, though she waved her partner off with a reassuring smile.

"Oh yeah, that's – what's-her-name – Renwick," Quintus murmured to me. "That cripple from Three, remember? The one who took forever to get to the stage?"

I remembered her, vaguely. Certainly not her name – maybe Quintus was smarter than I'd been giving him credit for – but I recalled seeing a girl with a limp. She'd looked…functional, if not threatening, at her Reaping. Now she couldn't even stand unaided. I wondered what had happened.

A gong sounded, halting further thought.

Our prep teams backed away from the chariots; our mentors and escorts had already disappeared, probably to watch us on a screen somewhere. The horses moved forward by rote, first at a walk, then a trot. I stared fixedly at the back of the District One chariot, the tributes' jewel-encrusted capes sparkling in the spotlights.

As we left the building, the noise level swelled, Capitol citizens cheering, screaming our names, blowing kisses. Over the roar of the crowd, a female announcer commentated via loudspeaker, introducing each pair of tributes as they appeared onscreen.

I learned that the boy from One was named Glint, and the girl was Chenille. The boy from Three was Cody Something-I-didn't-catch, and the girl was last name, Renwick, first name, Memorie. I paid attention long enough to find out the names of District Four's tributes – the boy and girl were called Atlas and Mari, respectively – before devoting my efforts to smiling and waving.

Once the ride was over, I slipped into a daydream that featured Chenille as my target for archery practice, tuning out the various boring speeches by Capitol officials. I looked up at the screens once, wanting to see the new president, who had replaced his father earlier in the year. He looked very young, mid-twenties at the oldest.

I wondered how he'd have fared in the arena at my age.

It was over quickly after that. Quintus and I retreated into the Training Center, accepted praise from our stylists, mentors and escort, and took an elevator to our apartment to change out of costume.

Though the main rooms of the District Two apartment were as lavish as the train, my bedroom and bathroom were subdued, similar to my room at home. A golden-haired Avox woman appeared to help me out of my costume, which by now felt like it had been welded to my skin with sweat.

I sped through my nightly calisthenics, took a quick, lukewarm shower to remove my makeup, and set the bedside alarm clock for 5 a.m., hoping to wake myself before Varius decided to give me another refresher course in arena safety. I fell asleep content: tomorrow was the first day of training, and I planned to wipe the condescension right off District One's pretty face.


	4. Superior

I woke inexplicably two minutes before my alarm was set to go off, noting with relief that I was alone in my suite. I worked through my morning routine rapidly, then changed into the black jumpsuit I found in my closet. My district number was embroidered on both sleeves and on my back.

At the punch of a button, the hole in the wall produced my customary protein shake, which I sipped mechanically as I left the room. To my lasting surprise, Varius was already seated at the dining room table beside Theta Honeyman, looking smug. Quintus and Allison trooped in moments after I arrived.

"Well, as everyone's here, we might as well get down to business," my mentor said, pulling out a chair for me. For some reason, he looked faintly annoyed to see us. "Allison and I decided that you and Quintus will be working together during training."

He must have seen my frown, because he went on. "You've both had years to train separately, so if you haven't mastered that by now, you're hopeless anyway. You two are easily the best-trained tributes in the field this year, so I don't want you to hold anything back during training. The Gamemakers and the other tributes will be watching you. Scare the living daylights out of them.

"One and Four will approach you about an alliance, but put them off until you've seen them in action. You can make a decision later in the week."

Allison spoke up for the first time that morning, saying, "Watch the other tributes – all of them, even the ones you think are weak – but don't be obvious about it. If you act cocky and oblivious now, you might surprise a few people later."

Quintus and I got to our feet, accompanied a moment later by our mentors. Theta remained seated, looking, I thought, slightly shell-shocked. Maybe she had a hangover.

Varius grabbed me by the elbow, pulling me aside to allow Quintus and Allison to leave the room first. "Listen, Salotti," he said. "I've seen Quintus in training; he's stronger than you, but no match for your endurance. Pretend to get tired when he does."

I nodded my understanding, then made a beeline for the door, dropping the dregs of my shake in a garbage receptacle as I went. The mentors weren't allowed to watch us train, so Varius would expect a full report on the other tributes from me at the end of the day. I'd have to take care not to get too immersed in my workout.

My eyes went wide when I entered the Training Center. I'd trained with all the weapons I saw in front of me, but these…these weren't weapons, they were pieces of art! I ran my hand down the haft of a spear as tall as I was; when I lifted it from the rack, it balanced perfectly on my palm.

No question about it – I'd begin my routine with spear work.

Most of the other tributes had arrived by the time I finished warming up. As ordered, Quintus and I stuck together, experimenting with sword and spear techniques that were most effective when combined. After a couple of hours, we moved on, practicing ranged and melee attacks together. I picked up a bow and practiced firing over Quintus' head at imaginary enemies as he flowed through an intricate spear fight with one of the Capitol-provided sparring partners.

As predicted, the tributes from One and Four headed our way when we broke for lunch.

The boy from One stepped forward, offering Quintus his hand. "I'm Glint, from District One, and this is my partner, Chenille," he said.

"And I'm Atlas, and this is Mari," said the boy from Four, taking my outstretched hand. "We're from Four. Do you want to make an alliance?"

Glint narrowed his eyes at the shorter boy, no doubt annoyed by his straightforward approach. "Forgive Atlas for his abruptness," he said smoothly. "Of course, we're all interested in continuing the honored tradition of the Career alliance, but let's discuss it after we've gotten to know each other over lunch."

"Let's hope they have salad or something this time," Chenille said. "I'm afraid all this rich Capitol food will go straight to my hips." She smiled conspiratorially at me, perhaps expecting commiseration. She was barking up the wrong tree, but I felt the need to say something.

"Yeah, all those empty calories," I replied, pasting what I hoped resembled a smile on my face. There, that sounded like something the girl from One could agree with.

Mari flashed me a lopsided grin. "Like you'd know anything about empty calories, Two," she joked. "What has your mentor been feeding you, raw beef and steroids?"

I smiled back, genuinely pleased. "Close. My mentor swears by these protein drinks that taste like a cross between toxic waste and pond slime. Nasty stuff. I'm Neera, by the way, and this uncivilized lout," I punched my partner in the bicep, "is Quintus, also from Two."

Introductions out of the way, we made small talk as we collected food from the laden buffet table.

When we sat down, Atlas situated himself to my left, immediately asking, "Neera, what's your favorite weapon? I tried to guess earlier, but you seemed equally good with all of them!"

I frowned a little. Was this kid for real? "Uh, I don't really have a preference. I prefer short- to long-rang combat, so…swords and spears, I guess?" I paused. "Atlas, how old are you?"

"I'm sixteen and Mari is seventeen," he replied, not seeming offended, as I'd feared he would. He was only two years younger than me. How had he retained such childlike eagerness for so long? I found myself dreading the moment when our alliance broke down.

_Make allies, not friends._ Varius' voice in my head made me tear my eyes from Atlas' smiling face to focus instead on the tribute seated to my right. Oh joy, Chenille.

Before I could change my mind and look away, she said, "So, Neera, who's your stylist? Your chariot costume was quite eye-catching!"

"Phoenix Rave," I replied, schooling my face to expressionlessness. "Who's yours?"

It was the right question. "Her name is Auricula Lapworth," the blonde gushed. "Weren't our costumes fabulous? All those beautiful gemstones! Our capes alone must be worth a fortune. I can't wait to see my interview dress. Have you decided what angle you're going to play? My mentor and escort think I should go with sexy, but that's not really _me_, you know?"

I found that by nodding periodically, I could eat in peace while Chenille babbled.

No one brought up alliances for the rest of the meal, and when we returned to the training room, we split up by district again.

The next six days followed a similar pattern. Each day, I found myself spending more and more time observing the other tributes, sizing up the competition.

Glint was almost as strong as Quintus, but not nearly as fast. From what he'd done during training, it looked like his weapon of choice was a two-handed broadsword. Chenille was quick, good with a sword and knives, but tired easily. I could tell that Mari and Atlas had been advised to play things safe, so they mainly brushed up on survival skills, only going to the weapons stations for long enough to demonstrate their proficiency – and, therefore, their eligibility for spots in the sought-after alliance.

The boy from Eleven was named Bran. I watched while he tried to find a sword light enough to lift, and, failing that, moved to a high ropes course. He fell to the floor after a few minutes, and I turned my attention elsewhere. He was no threat, as I'd guessed from watching his Reaping.

Atlas spent part of one day laughing with the pair from Twelve at the knot-tying station. I saw him shoo the Capitol instructor away before demonstrating the proper way to tie a square knot. No doubt he'd had plenty of practice at home in the fishing district.

The wiry-looking boy from Eight showed impressive prowess at both knot-tying and trap-making, but despite days of effort, couldn't hit a target with either bow or throwing knife. It'd just be a matter of killing him before he had time to set some elaborate snare – no problem.

The girl from Three remained unable to walk under her own power. At close quarters, I could see that her right leg appeared to have been badly mangled and poorly healed. The way she moved indicated that the injury was old, something she'd spent years learning to live with. Her district partner helped her hobble between survival stations. I never saw her touch a weapon. She only stuck in my mind because of her oddly cheerful attitude – I saw her help a pair of young-looking tributes from Six at the edible plants station, and twice, I heard her laugh out loud at something her district partner had said.

The only potential competition I saw outside the Career districts was a stocky redhead from Ten. Her name was Something Meadows, which I only remembered because she was the girl my mentor had warned me looked unusually strong. Watching her train, I agreed. I doubted she was revealing her full strength, but even so she had no trouble lifting the heaviest weapons in the room. She learned quickly, too – she spent the second half of the week flitting between survival stations, perfecting one skill after another with an ease I envied.

On the last day of training, Quintus and I cemented our alliance with Glint, Chenille, Atlas and Mari over lunch. I'd grown to like both tributes from Four, and even Glint from One was bearable once you got past his stiffly formal manners. Chenille was everything I'd come to hate about her district, though: petty, self-centered, and unintelligent. I'd have no problem killing her when our alliance reached its inevitable end.


	5. Proven

The Training Center closed at eleven that day, giving us time for our individual sessions before the board of Gamekeepers, after which they'd award us each a score between one and twelve. The allotted twenty minutes wouldn't be nearly enough to show them everything I could do, but then, I shouldn't need to – they'd been watching me all week.

I sat with the other Careers, waiting my turn. First Glint was called, then Chenille, then Quintus. I was practically overflowing with pent-up energy by the time my name sounded over the loudspeaker.

I was on my feet instantly, trotting backwards toward the training room so I could wave to Mari and Atlas, who both smiled back encouragingly.

Once in the training room, I headed straight for the survival stations. I'd avoided them all week, hoping to delude the others – especially my fellow Careers – into thinking my skills began and ended with combat training.

At the edible plants station, I swiftly divided the plant samples into edible and poisonous piles. Looking up to make sure I still had the Gamekeepers' attention, I moved on to knot tying, where I tied five useful knots in less than a minute. Then I demonstrated my talent for camouflage and my ability to make traps, both skills that showcased long hours of effort under Varius' guidance at home.

With ten minutes left, I moved to the practice dummies. Methodically, I worked my way through the melee weapons: sword, spear, axe, mace. Then I decapitated the now-scarred dummies with my bare hands and feet in a display that I thought would've made Varius proud.

I finished with archery and throwing knives, then bowed my head to the Gamekeepers and left the room. Now, all I had to do was wait until our scores were televised after dinner.

Unfortunately, patience had never been my strong suit. I rehashed my training and the formation of our alliance for Varius – Theta was nowhere in sight, to my intense relief – drank yet another protein shake, and did some stretches. Finally, I sat on the couch and watched a show about this year's Head Gamekeeper, who had, according to the TV announcer, been handpicked by President Snow himself.

By the time dinner arrived, carried by three dark-haired Avoxes, I had bitten my nails to the quick. I was sure I'd scored well, but what if someone else had done better? I pushed food around on my plate while Varius and Allison laughed at Quintus' story about District Seven's nutcase mentor talking to a wall.

Theta still hadn't arrived by the time we settled in front of the television.

To fill the tense silence, I asked my mentor where our escort had gone.

"Theta Honeyman? How should I know? Do I look like her keeper to you, Salotti?" Even to me, Varius sounded defensive. I quirked an eyebrow at him.

"She said she was going to her apartment for the night," Allison informed me, frowning at Varius. "I'm sure she'll be back in the morning to prepare you two for your interviews." _Ugh, interviews._

I wanted to pursue the subject, the screen flared to life, showing a picture of Glint's face, along with his age and district number. A disembodied male voice announced that his training score was a nine. I sighed a little, relieved. I was sure I'd gotten better than a nine.

Chenille also received a nine. Maybe she'd done a striptease for the Gamemakers, I thought uncharitably.

Beside me, Quintus jumped to his feet, cheering, when he was given a ten. Allison gave him a hug, and even Varius flashed him a congratulatory smile.

"Neera Salotti, age eighteen, District Two," the voice intoned, "receives a training score of eleven."

Eleven! I barely kept myself from leaping up and doing a victory dance.

"Well done, Salotti," Varius said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I'd be willing to bet that's the highest score we'll see this year."

And he was right. Mari got a nine, Atlas, an eight. The redhead from Ten got a ten, making Quintus glance at me in wordless concern.

The girl from Three got a one.

Nobody ever got a one. I felt a little angry with the Gamemakers – sure, she couldn't exactly fight, but her work at the survival stations deserved at least a two.

I shook my head to erase the thought. _Allies, not friends._ And a cripple wouldn't make a good ally.

The others' scores were predictably low. A pair of fours for District Seven – as if they weren't already doomed by having only a single, insane mentor between the two of them. A three and a five for the boy and girl from Eleven, a mildly surprising six for the girl from Twelve.

I went to bed that night feeling blissfully sore. I hadn't pushed my body to its limit this week, but I'd come close. I was in the best shape of my life, stronger and more skilled than ever. I was ready for the arena.


	6. Valiant

When Theta roused me from my bed the next morning, I felt a bit less confident. The idea of being interviewed in front of everyone in the Panem wasn't nearly as awful as the thought of wearing another outfit cooked up by my style team, but it was bad enough. I wasn't looking forward to spending the morning with Theta and her lurid hair either.

The first thing we did was to determine the angle I would play onstage tonight. I had already laid a good foundation with my formidable appearance in the chariot and my eleven in training. Also, Varius had dragged me to his room earlier in the week to show me that my argument with Theta the day we'd arrived in the Capitol had evidently been caught on camera. Some genius had apparently decided that my angry quote – "I'm strong, fast and brutal" – was a sort of catchphrase, so I saw it replayed often.

So obviously we wouldn't be trying to play my character off as sexy like Chenille's team was planning. After several hours of failing to get me to come across as cute, funny, or even likeable, Theta bowed to my wishes and let me be myself.

"Nothing I say seems to make any impression on you, Neera, so I give up," she said, running her hands through her bicolored hair in abject frustration. "Who knows, maybe acting rude and threatening will win you sponsors. It's happened before. Only to male tributes, but…"

"Sorry, Theta, but this is the damn Hunger Games, not some fancy dinner party. I have a hard time charming people's pants off when most of my attention is devoted to figuring out how best to kill twenty-three other kids."

She nodded reluctantly and went off to work with Quintus, probably thinking that there was no way he could be even half as difficult as me. Then Varius came to take my to my style team. I dragged my feet the whole way, visions of marble-patterned dresses dancing behind my eyes.

It was every bit as awful as I'd expected.

I emerged from the stylists' clutches wearing a heavy garment made of squares of slick black stone – obsidian, I thought – stuck together with some kind of elastic. The thing was strapless and barely covered my hips. And, I noticed, disgusted, if you looked closely enough, you could see bits of my skin between the black squares, too.

Quintus was waiting to walk to the elevator with me. He was dressed in obsidian squares too, but his stylist had been courteous enough to provide a pair of black leggings for him to wear under the stone pants. He looked…dashing. I wondered what angle Theta had worked out for him.

When we reached the waiting area, our support crew was already there. I was amused to see that someone had indeed succeeded in getting Allison into a dress, a lacy blue number that looked out of place on her battle-hardened body. Varius gave me a thumbs-up and I shot him a grimace in return. He leaned down to say something to Theta, and I saw her smile up at him before I turned away.

Gradually, the other tributes trickled down, lining up in the order we'd be called onto the stage. I was third, after Chenille and Glint. We heard a roar of applause from the main room. Tesla Monogram, the famous Capitol talk show host, must have appeared onstage. Sure enough, his amplified voice filtered back to us as he warmed the audience up for us.

When Chenille was finally called onstage, a huge television screen lit up on the wall in front of us so we could see the interviews too.

I deliberately ignored Chenille's interview, choosing to rehearse my own lines in my head. After three minutes, Glint was called. He turned on the charm, complimenting Tesla's suit, the Capitol architecture and the delicious food. He didn't reveal anything about his strategy for the Games, but I could see women in the audience cooing over his good looks.

And then it was my turn. I walked to the stage slowly, careful not to trip in my awful heels.

"Ah, the statuesque Neera Salotti!" Tesla exclaimed, chuckling at his own joke. "That was quite the costume, wasn't it, folks?"

When the cheers had died down and I was seated in a chair across from Tesla, he leaned forward with his first question.

"Now Neera, I have to ask something that I'm sure all the gentlemen in the croud have been wondering. You have such beautiful hair; why keep it all pinned up like that?" I could see screens overhead showing close-ups of my hair, which was tightly braided and looped around my head like a crown.

"No need to give my enemies something to grab onto in a fight," I responded. "You saw the lovely Chenille a minute ago; imagine how badly handicapped she must by all that loose hair in her face."

"Very practical," said Tesla, nodding sagely before moving on to the next question. "Neera, we've seen your face on television quite a bit this week. You seem excited for the Games. Would you have volunteered this year if not for the rule change?"

"Yes, of course. I was – ah…raised" – I couldn't say _trained_, since it was technically illegal to prepare for the Games – "by Varius de Luca, the man who was chosen from the pool of District Two victors to be my mentor." As if any of the other victors would've questioned his right to mentor me. "Now that I'm eighteen, he would certainly have encouraged me to follow in his footsteps. It was an honor to be chosen by my district."

"District Two hasn't had a victor in four years, and District One has since won twice in a row. Do you think this is some kind of trend?" Tesla asked.

I didn't bother to hide my disdain for the idea. "Of course not. District One got lucky a couple of times. That ends with me. I got an eleven in training; they only got nines. Neither of them can hold a candle to me or my district partner. I hope they're stupid enough to attack me – then I can show them how a real victor fights!"

"You're confident that you're going to win, then?"

"Definitely. I haven't seen a single tribute who comes close to matching my abilities, and the Gamemakers obviously agree – you didn't see them giving anyone else an eleven. The only unknown at this point is the arena, but I'm good at adapting. I'll make sure to give you all a wonderful show!"

The audience cheered as I bowed and left the stage.

Backstage, I slipped my shoes off and fixed my eyes on the screen as Tesla introduced "the handsome Quintus Tiziano!" and the crowd applauded.

Tesla dove right in. "Quintus, you got one of the highest training scores this year – a ten, if I'm not mistaken. Can you tell us what you did to earn it?"

"Well, I wouldn't want to give away any trade secrets," my partner said, "but let's just say it would be unwise for the other tributes to end up on the business end of my spear once we're in the arena, if you catch my meaning." The Capitol audience seemed to find that hilarious.

"I wouldn't be surprised if you're every bit as deadly with a spear as you claim, Quintus. You must take after your mother. Now, for those of you who don't remember, Vega Jib won the second Hunger Games when she was seventeen, three years before she married Brett Tiziano."

Tesla pivoted in his seat to give Quintus his full attention. "I understand your mother passed away a little over a year ago. Is that correct?" Quintus nodded. "You have my sincerest condolences. Vega Tiziano was loved by everyone here in the Capitol, so you know how excited we are to watch her only son compete in this year's Quell!"

Realizing, perhaps, that Quintus wasn't overly interested in discussing his dead mother on nationwide television, Tesla moved on.

"Now, this is a personal question, but I think everyone would love to hear your answer. There are so many gorgeous tributes this year. Do you have…romantic feelings toward any of them?"

I watched Quintus' brow furrow in puzzlement. After a moment of silence, he said, "There is only one victor."

Tesla waved that off as unimportant. "Well, yes, but hypothetically? If you weren't going into the arena tomorrow?" I could hear a few tributes behind me make sounds of protest. That was an unusually cruel question – being forced to consider a future that could never be.

Quintus managed to take it in stride, though, flashing a conspiratorial grin at the cameras. "Neera from my district is the obvious choice, but I'm not sure that would be a good idea. We're both pretty lethal – I mean, can you imagine our lovers' spats? So I'd have to go with Mari, from District Four. You'll get to meet her shortly, and I'm sure you'll be as enchanted with her as I am."

With that, his three minutes was up. He waved cheerfully and trotted offstage.

The girl from Three was up next, and I watched curiously as a Peacekeeper in dress whites moved to the front of the line of tributes and lifted her in his arms. A few moments later, they appeared on the screen. Tesla waited politely until Three had been settled in her chair before speaking.

"Goodness, you look like a vision from heaven!" the host exclaimed, leaning forward to touch a corner of Three's lacy white skirt. "Memorie Renwick, ladies and gentlemen, from District Three!"

Pretending to whisper, Tesla said, "I'm not allowed to play favorites, but I have a soft spot for your district, my dear. Where would we be without technology? I personally would spend my days wandering in circles without my trusty scheduler!" He pulled a palm-sized electronic device from his suit coat and waved it at the crowd, who laughed.

The girl chuckled before adding, "We build many of the components for the Hunger Games arenas as well, Tesla. Remember the giant mechanized turntables two years ago? All those parts came from our factories."

I certainly remembered. The arena that year had looked like a uniform meadowlike landscape, but was later revealed to be made of concentric circular platforms that turned at random intervals, making it difficult to stay oriented and easy to be taken by surprise. An unfortunately timed rotation had led to the demise of District Two's last tribute at the hands of the boy from One.

"What an excellent point, Miss Renwick. She's smart as well as beautiful, folks!"

Three inclined her head, graciously accepting the compliment.

"Tell us about your life at home, dear. Do you have a big family?"

"No family that I know of, actually. My parents passed away when I was a baby, and I don't have any siblings. Although," she continued, smiling fondly, "I ran a childcare center in one of the factories, so sometimes it feels like I have about fifty little brothers and sisters."

Ran, not run. She was already speaking of herself in the past tense. I was impressed by the neatness with which both host and tribute skirted the issue of Three's debilitating injury. The girl clearly knew she wasn't going home, but was either too polite or too proud to make an issue of it.

"My goodness, that must be a handful! My wife and I have two boys, and I can hardly keep up with them half the time."

"Oh, you got lucky! The boys are little angels until they turn eleven or so." The girl was clearly on familiar turf now; she was no longer faking her comfort onstage. "It's the girls you have to watch out for. I know a couple of five-year-olds at home who could probably give Chenille and Neera a run for their money!"

The audience was still roaring with laughter when Tesla glanced at his wrist and said, "Time's up, I'm afraid. Let's give Memorie Renwick a big hand!"

The applause was enthusiastic at first – louder than it had been for anyone so far – but even the Capitol's oblivious populace had to sober a bit when Three's Peacekeeper escort picked her up and carried her offstage. There couldn't have been a more potent reminder that the cheerful girl was as good as dead.

I went to bed without saying goodnight to anyone.

What was the point, I thought – I'd see Varius in the morning before the hovercraft left for the arena, and I'd have plenty more time to talk to Quintus. Anyone else who wanted to talk to me could wait until after the Games.

I fell asleep wondering what ghastly outfit my stylists would cook up for the victory ceremony – if it was too awful, I'd simply refuse to wear it, I decided.


	7. In Pieces

In the morning, I woke at dawn, then sat on the edge of my bed giving myself mental instructions. _Don't step off the platform until the gong sounds. Get a sword first; it'll be best for the close-quarters fighting of the bloodbath. Let the girl from Ten go, but take the pack to hunt her down as soon as possible. Establish yourself as the pack leader during the bloodbath._

I looked up when my door opened, revealing Varius' grim face.

"Time to go, Neera," he said. He hadn't called me by my first name since my training started for real when I was twelve.

I got to my feet. "Any last-minute advice?" I asked as we took the elevator to the roof, where the hovercraft would be waiting.

That earned me a brief smile. "Don't trust the other Careers. Not even Tiziano. _Especially_ not Tiziano. Make sure you dissolve the alliance on your own terms – it'll give you the element of surprise. Always carry water, food and weapons. And don't underestimate anyone once you're in the arena. Fear of dying galvanizes some people."

We had reached the roof. Above our heads, the belly of the silver hovercraft yawned open.

I gave my mentor a silent hug and turned walked up the ramp, careful not to look back. This part was harder than I'd anticipated.

Once all the tributes had ascended to the shuttle and taken their seats in two long, facing rows, we took off. Shortly thereafter, two women in medical blue appeared to inject us with our trackers.

We sat in silence for the flight, which only lasted about half an hour. The hovercraft alit with a hiss of pneumatic landing gear, and the big loading door opened, allowing us to disembark.

I nodded a goodbye to Quintus, sidestepping a Peacekeeper – transportation for Three, I assumed – to walk down the ramp to my waiting prep team.

I tried to tune out the vapid conversation of my stylists as they ushered me to one of the belowground launch rooms. They combed my hair and returned it to its original pinned-up braid, then helped me into a lightweight jumpsuit in pale beige.

Thalia and Tenobia waved tearfully to me as I stepped onto the circular platform that would lift me into the arena. I forced myself to give each of them a small smile.

And then the platform was rising, lifting me slowly into blinding daylight and dryly oppressive heat. Now the beige clothing made sense.

The arena was a desert.

A large electronic board over the golden Cornucopia began to count down from sixty. I looked at the tributes arrayed around me, discovering that we had been split into boys and girls, then arranged by district. Chenille was to my left, the girl from Three to my right.

The countdown had reached thirty. I surveyed the treasures arranged around the Cornucopia, spotting several swords I thought would suit my purpose near the mouth.

Ten seconds.

I looked to my left, seeing Chenille staring at the golden horn, eyes narrowed in concentration.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

The gong sounded, and I was off my platform in a flash, speeding toward the Cornucopia a step ahead of Chenille. I saw Mari racing up on my right.

The hilt of the sword was cool in my palm.

I spun around, putting my back to the Cornucopia. My sword flashed in the bright sunlight, daring anyone to come within striking distance. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mari pick up a bandolier of throwing knives. On my other side, Chenille was reaching for a sword that matched my own.

I scanned the area in front of me for targets, then froze.

The girl from District Three was still standing on her platform. All the other tributes had either lunged for the supplies around the Cornucopia or bolted, hoping to avoid the bloodbath, but she didn't have either option.

A wave of pure rage crashed over me, gluing my feet to the ground for a fraction of a second. Then I raced toward the girl, leaning down to grab a large backpack from the ground as I went.

I was almost there when a tribute loomed in front of me. He was facing the girl from Three, and didn't see me coming. I drove my sword through his heart an instant before he could crush her with his mace, pushing him off my sword and away from Three.

Her eyes met mine. They were wide and green. And calm. She should have been panicked, begging for her life, but she was calm.

Behind me, I heard Mari calling my name, then Quintus'. I turned to see my district partner charging around the tail of the Cornucopia, dripping spear in hand.

"What are you doing, Neera?" he shouted.

I shook my head mutely. I was sure my expression was every bit as puzzled as his.

_What _are_ you doing, Neera?_ I asked myself.

I turned back to Three. Dropping my sword, I picked her up in both arms and sprinted away from the Cornucopia.

I heard renewed shouting behind me. Both Quintus' and Glint's voices were recognizable in the mix. Then Chenille – at least, I thought it was Chenille, but maybe that was wishful thinking – screamed. Footsteps pounded after me, and I ran faster, adrenaline making the girl weightless in my arms.

Ahead, the desert stretched as far as I could see. There were no trees or rocks for cover, no place to hide. I'd have to outrun whoever was chasing me, and pray they weren't carrying knives or a bow.

After about ten minutes, I slowed, unable to hear anything behind me. I glanced over my shoulder: nothing but a few cacti. Abruptly, I realized the tribute I carried had been dangerously silent throughout this. What if she'd had some wound I'd missed, and had bled out as I ran?

I carefully set her on the sand, eyes searching for any sign of injury. I certainly couldn't see anything wrong with her.

"Hey, District Three," I said, my voice hoarse from running. "You alive down there?"

She blinked once. "Why?" she asked.

"I'm taking that as a yes," I informed her. "Now, we need to put a few more miles between us and the Careers before we stop for good. Can you climb on my back? It'll be easier to run."

She nodded expressionlessly.

"Good. Hang on while I rearrange some stuff…"

I shrugged the backpack off, unzipping it and rifling quickly through the contents. I stopped when I reached two full gallon jugs at the bottom. I unscrewed one of the lids, sniffing it to determine that it was indeed full of water. No wonder the thing was so heavy.

I repacked the contents before shrugging the pack on so it was situated over my chest, then reached down to lift the girl to her feet. At my instruction, she stood behind me, allowing me to heave her awkwardly onto my back.

"You okay?" I asked. She might have nodded. "Hold on, then."

She wound her arms tentatively around my neck. I started off at a light jog, a pace I could maintain for hours – especially now that my arms were free again.

Just as I hit my stride, the sound of cannons made me falter. The bloodbath must've ended already. I counted the shots. One. Two. Three. Four. Then silence.

That was more that a little odd. Usually, almost half the competition was eliminated in the first gory hour of the Games. I felt like I was missing something important, but I ignored it and ran on.

The sky was growing darker by the time I decided it was safe to stop. By my estimate, we'd covered about seven miles. I'd seen no sign of the other tributes, no animals, and no water. Nothing but endless sand flats and a variety of cacti.

I lowered the girl to the ground and tossed the backpack down beside her.

"Water?" I offered an open jug to Three.

She took it wordlessly, staring at me with wide eyes. After taking a few quick sips, she asked, "Why are you doing this?"

"I wish I knew." The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. And once I started talking, I couldn't seem to shut myself up. "You know what I'm supposed to be doing right now?"

Three just shook her head, possibly wondering if I was insane. I was kind of wondering that too.

"I'm supposed to be establishing myself as the leader of the Career alliance. I'm supposed to be inventorying all our food and supplies. Then I'm supposed to convince everyone that our first job in the morning is to kill the girl from Ten." I sank to the ground. "Varius is going to murder me."

"Who's Varius?"

"Varius de Luca, my mentor. Seriously, I'd have it easier if I died in this arena."

"Oh, right. I've heard of him. Is he really that bad? I always thought the mentors for your district – and One and Four – were the best. My mentor is usually too drunk to move."

The speech was so long that I stared at her in awe. It was the most she'd said in my hearing since her interview in the Capitol.

"No, he _is_ the best, that's the problem. He expects me to be just like him. I was doing so well! I got an eleven in training…" My voice trailed off as unwelcome realization dawned. The Careers would eliminate their most threatening opponent first, which was why Ten had been at the top of my kill list. But now that I wasn't in the alliance, the score I'd been so proud of was like a target painted on my chest.

Suddenly, the sound of the anthem shattered the desert calm, and the Capitol seal appeared in the sky. _I guess this is as dark as it's going to get_, I thought. I swore the sun had set, but it was light enough for early evening.

The first dead tribute shown was the boy from Three. A shame – it seemed Chenille had survived whatever caused her to scream as I fled the Cornucopia. I heard the girl beside my catch her breath.

"Cody was only thirteen! He was a child! He tried to take care of me." She sounded on the verge of tears.

I tried to ignore her quiet sobs as I watched the next dead tribute appear in the sky. It was the boy from six, the one I'd stabbed. Then the little boy from eleven – Bran? – was shown, followed by the girl from Twelve. Four down, nineteen to go.

Beside me, Three had gone quiet, appearing lost in thought.

"You ended the bloodbath early!" she exclaimed, comprehension lighting her eyes.

"I-" _What?_ "What?"

"Only four tributes died today. That's incredibly low compared to the past few years." _Compared to _every_ year,_ I thought. "I've been thinking about it all day, and now I see what happened. When you ran off, all the Careers must've followed you, and by the time they'd gotten back, everyone else was gone."

Fantastic. Not only had I unthinkingly gone rogue, I'd altered the fundamental structure of the Games. If my former allies had chased after me and left the Cornucopia unguarded, not only would I be dealing with a larger field of survivors than usual, they'd be better fed and better armed.

"Tesla was right, Three," I said. "You're smart."

She snorted. "Yeah. Too bad my giant brain won't do me any good in here."

_No, but it'll do _me_ plenty of good._ I hadn't done myself any favors by trading five strong allies for one invalid, but as long as I kept her alive, I'd make sure to use any advantage she gave me.

I started pulling items from the pack, taking stock of my meager collection. Besides the two jugs of water, there was a roll of bandaging, a blanket, a package of biscuits and one of dried beef, and – oh, thank God! – a knife.

I was indescribably glad to have a weapon in my hand again. Since dropping my sword – I still had a hard time believing I'd actually done that – I'd felt vulnerable. I could kill without weapons, certainly, but it was still reassuring to be able to rely on cold steel instead.

Having confirmed the availability of food, water and a weapon, I allowed myself to feel the fatigue weighing on my body. Once I'd acknowledged the tiredness, it hit me like a sledgehammer, trying to glue my eyelids shut. I forced my hands to reload the backpack in case I needed to make a fast getaway, and then collapsed on the warm sand, knife in my hand.

"Aren't you going to kill me now?" Three asked suddenly. I started briefly upright, having nearly forgotten she was there.

"Maybe in the morning. Get some rest. And stay away from me while I'm sleeping," I grunted, turning over and immediately falling asleep.


	8. Killer

I woke at dawn – or what passed for dawn here, where it never seemed to get completely dark – with the knife in my hand. I was on my feet instantly, scanning the horizon for possible threats. Once I was satisfied that we were alone, I prodded Three with my foot.

"Rise and shine," I said, watching as she sat up and oriented herself. "I need to hunt."

"Hunt?" she asked sleepily. "I haven't seen a single animal here."

I sighed. _Maybe not so smart after all._ "It's not animals I'm after, Three."

"Oh. Right," she said in a small voice. I handed her one of the water jugs and a biscuit, proceeding to eat two biscuits of my own, along with some of the dried meat from the pack.

I patted the exposed skin on my neck and face, feeling an unusual amount of heat and tenderness. _Sunburn_, I thought. And, _I would have shelter if I'd stayed with the Careers. _The other girl had it worse than I did, her fair skin turning a painful-looking pink from the intensity of the sun's rays.

"We need to head back to the Cornucopia," I said. "The other tributes probably picked it pretty clean yesterday, but we're going to need a tent. And food and water." And something more deadly than my little knife.

"Won't the other Careers be there?" Three voiced the question I'd been pushing to the back of my mind.

"If they are, I'll handle them." At least it would save them the trouble of searching the arena for me. "Come on," I continued, offering her my hand and pulling her upright. "Let's get this over with."

I found my pace almost immediately, settling into an easy run. I was pleased to find that none of my muscles were sore from yesterday's exertions, although I'd probably have a pair of matching bruises where Three's elbows were digging into my shoulders.

Backtracking the way we'd come took less time than I'd anticipated. When we were, by my estimate, less than a mile from the Cornucopia, I lowered the girl and the pack and pulled out a water jug, taking a few long sips.

"How are you planning to fight?"

"What do you mean, Three?"

"Shouldn't you leave me here so I won't slow you down if you run into the others?" she asked.

"What, and let you get away with all my supplies?" I realized how unlikely that was and hurried on. "We only have one knife, and I'm not leaving you out here unarmed," I said.

"But won't one of the Careers just kill me while you're fighting the others?" she reasoned. She didn't sound nearly worried enough for a person discussing her own hypothetical demise; more like someone trying to piece together a difficult puzzle.

I stared down at her. "Don't worry, Three, you aren't going to die today. You have my word."

She didn't look reassured.

After that, I closed the distance to the Cornucopia rapidly. I could see the golden metal glinting in the sun; this flat terrain allowed for fantastic visibility. As we approached, I saw that the area was deserted, empty not only of tributes but also of supplies.

"Damn it!" I exclaimed, dropping my companion unceremoniously to the ground.

"Don't curse!" she snapped, rubbing the hip she'd landed on. "There are children watching this, and it's bad enough that they have to watch government-sanctioned murder without you adding bad language to the mix."

I just shook my head, annoyed.

"Besides," she went on, "isn't this a good thing? Now you have access to the shopping list without having to face the other Careers."

_What the hell?_ "Shopping list?" I asked incredulously, carefully avoiding the obscenities running through my mind.

"Yes, there," she said, pointing to the Cornucopia. "You probably never saw it because you went for the weapons as soon as the countdown stopped, but the board-" I now saw she was gesturing to the electronic board suspended above the golden horn, "-shows district numbers and a list of supplies in each tribute's possession."

I looked up at the board, shielding my eyes against the glare of the sun. She was right. Glowing red characters near the top of the board spelled out "2: hunting knife, wool blanket, cotton bandages, water, food." Those were the things in my backpack. The line below that read "2: sword, bow and arrows, spear, sleeping bag, tent, first aid kit, water, food." It looked like Quintus had done well for himself. At the end of the line of words were the letters NNW. North-northwest, I assumed, with the Cornucopia as the centerpoint of the map.

Closer inspection showed all five Careers heading in the same direction, toward the point where District Three and I had spent the night. Not a coincidence, I suspected. It was a miracle we hadn't run into them on our way here.

"See?" Three's voice broke my concentration. "It's awful, isn't it? I didn't know it gave directions too; that's even worse. It's to encourage confrontations between tributes, I suspect."

She was right, I thought. The aptly named shopping list turned each tribute into a list of commodities ripe for the taking. The Gamemakers wouldn't have to guide us together with not-so-subtle manipulations with the arena and mutations – we'd be forced to hunt each other as food and water ran out.

I wondered how many of the others had figured out what the board had become. The Careers, obviously. Probably anyone else who'd stuck around long enough to get supplies rather than bolting immediately.

I scanned the list rapidly. One and Four had a tent apiece, as well as assorted weapons and supplies. Three had nothing beside her name, and her location, like mine, was C. One tribute from Eight – it might be the boy, assuming the male tribute was always listed second – had a tent, rope, and water. Best of all, his heading was SW, southwest, far from the Careers.

"Okay," I announced. "I've got a target. Let's get moving."

"Who?" she asked.

"Someone from Eight," I replied, securing the pack to my chest before reaching for her. "Probably the boy." I moved off at a slow jog, the increasing heat beginning to tell on my strength.

"Jason Weaver? No, he's nice!" She sounded distressed.

"There is only one victor, and that boy has something that will keep us alive" I reminded her. She said nothing.

It wasn't long before I began to see traces of another person ahead of us. I picked up my pace, easily following the tracks in the sand. He must've had a good start, though, because I continued for several hours, finding no sign of my quarry besides the footprints.

The day kept getting warmer. By noon, I was stopping for water every two miles or so, my body trying desperately to replace what I was losing to sweat. Between Three's body heat and the effort of my exertions, the back of my sand-colored top was drenched.

In another mile, I slowed to a walk, gasping for breath. The parched air hurt my lungs, but I gulped it in anyway. I unzipped the pack as I walked, silently offering Three the first jug, now nearly empty.

She accepted it with murmured thanks, but choked on her first mouthful, pointing over my shoulder. "Look! There's a person behind those cacti!"

I squinted in the direction of her outstretched hand, finding that there was, indeed, a human form bracketed between two towering cacti to my right. The person staggered toward us, either not noticing or not caring about our presence.

The person was female – the girl from Eight, then? I set Three down behind me, putting a finger to my lips. I grabbed my knife from the top of the pack and sprinted forward.

My knife was resting against the girl's heart before her dust-reddened eyes could process what was happening. Then she merely sighed.

"You're from Two, right?" she rasped. I nodded.

"And you're from Eight?"

"Yes. You're going to kill me." It wasn't a question. I nodded again.

I wished she'd fight back. There was no honor in killing an opponent who had already given up.

"Close your eyes," I said, watching two tears trickle down her cheeks as she complied.

My knife drew a red line across her throat. She gurgled briefly, gasping for air and only getting blood. Then she went limp in my arms, and I lowered her gently to the sand. The sound of her cannon firing made me jump, raising my knife to ward off any new enemies.

There was no one, of course. I removed the bulky pack from the girl's corpse, pausing just long enough to confirm that the bag contained a tent and water before moving away to let the hovercraft claim Eight's remains.

Three was crying when I walked back to her, and she flinched away before allowing me to pull her onto my back. I slung Eight's supplies across my front too, the straps straining uncomfortably to fit around both my shoulders and the old backpack.

"How could you do that?" Three asked. "Just…kill her? She never did anything to you!"

"There is only one victor," I said flatly. I paused before going on. "I'm…sorry you had to see that. It must be harder for you-" _since you haven't been training to kill other kids all your life,_ I thought bitterly. "Just – sorry. Look away next time. It's them or us."

I felt oddly hollow. I fought down a brief urge to go back to the Cornucopia and wait until the Careers came back so I could confront them all at once. Madness, of course. I'd take a few of them down with me, but with the odds five-to-one, someone would get a lucky shot.

"We have to keep going," I said. "The longer we wait, the less total food and water will be left. Were there any other tributes in this area?"

"I don't remember the whole list," she said in a small voice. "I think the two tributes who are left from Eleven and Twelve were due south from the Cornucopia, though. But that was hours ago."

"They're weak, I doubt they'll have moved much. Their strategy will be to wait for the rest of us to kill each other off before they come out of hiding." I felt a little better now, invigorated by the prospect of a new goal.

It was dusk – actual dusk; I thought it would get fully dark tonight – by the time I found Eleven and Twelve. Unlike the girl from Eight, they were armed and determined to fight back. I killed them anyway, the girl as she drove a sword toward my heart, the boy as he jumped over his companion's body, screaming in rage.

Two cannons fired in succession.

I picked up the dead girl's sword. At least now I had a real weapon.

I looked over my shoulder and saw Three in a crumpled heap on the sand, sobbing. Ignoring the sinking feeling in my gut, I sorted through the small pile of supplies I gathered between the two tributes. They'd had a package of dried fruit, another of meat that matched the one in my pack and one half-full jug of water.

I dumped the water into one of the three bottles in my backpack, tucking the food in on top before zipping it shut. Peeking over my shoulder at Three, I saw that she'd stopped crying and was staring blankly into the middle distance, eyes unfocused.

"Hey, District Three," I said quietly. "We need to move so they can claim the-" _bodies_ was the word I was avoiding, trying not to upset her further. She nodded mechanically. I slung the backpack over one shoulder and the tent over the other before stooping to pick her up in my arms. I wasn't planning to go far.

When I turned back around, the boy and girl were gone. A few hundred feet from the site of my battle with the two tributes, I stopped, placing my burdens on the ground.

"We'll camp here for the night," I announced, kneeling to remove the tent from its canvas bag.

"Why aren't your friends killing anyone?" she asked.

It took me a moment to figure out what she meant. "The Careers? First of all, we are – were – allies, not friends. And second," I paused, because I had been hoping she wouldn't need to know this, "they're hunting me, so they haven't bothered to look for anyone else yet. All the other tributes have to do is stay out of their way for now."

The tent was bright blue, to my disgust. If I were alone, I'd welcome the eye-catching color, since it would draw every tribute in seeing distance straight into my grasp. As it stood, I had to pray the Career pack didn't end up in our area.

By the time I'd finished pitching the tent, it was almost dark and the temperature had dropped significantly. I took food and water from the pack, handing half of it to Three. We ate in uncomfortable silence, and after a few minutes, I unpacked and reorganized our things just for something to do.

"How did you end up here?" I asked, the question leaping from my brain to my tongue before I could stop it.

"I was Reaped, just like you," she replied. "Well, not precisely like you; you seemed a bit happier about it than I was." She sounded bitter.

"No, I mean…you weren't picked randomly. The people in your district must've selected your name on the ballot more times than any other girl's. Do they really hate you so much? At least they could've sent someone who'd have a fighting chance."

She laughed without humor. "The odds aren't exactly in my favor, are they?" She looked up at me for a moment, her green eyes glinting in the near-darkness. "My district doesn't hate me. They thought they were sparing me. Everyone I overheard talking said they'd picked names they didn't know, so they wouldn't have to watch people they cared about die.

"At home, everybody calls me Em. They have for years, since before I can remember. My real name, Memorie, is on file with the community home where I was raised, but I guess no one remembered it. Probably thought Em was short for Emily or something."

_Of all the terrible luck…_ "I'm sorry," I said.

Before she could reply, the anthem sounded. One by one, the faces of the three tributes I'd killed that day appeared in the sky. I watched the girl beside me, gazing at the faces of the dead reflected in her eyes.

When the music ended, I sensed that our conversation was over as well. "Bedtime!" I said, my voice too cheerful against the desert stillness. "Don't talk or make any other noise when you're in the tent after dark. We're more or less invisible at night; no need to attract our enemies by being loud."

"So…you're not going to kill me tonight?" Three asked cautiously.

"Maybe tomorrow," I said.

I followed her into the tent, waiting as she pulled her unresponsive leg behind her. Inside, I tossed the blanket in her direction, lying down on the opposite side of the tiny enclosure. Our hips and shoulders nearly touched – probably a good thing, since it was much colder than the previous night.

I fell asleep quickly, the sound of Three's breathing strangely soothing to my ears.


	9. Hunted

In the morning, I roused Three, collapsed the tent and set off in the direction of the Cornucopia before the sun had climbed above the horizon. I kept my eyes peeled for any sign of the Careers, and zigzagged back and forth as much as possible without losing my sense of direction, assuming the others would follow a straight line toward my last known location.

Sure enough, the Cornucopia was deserted by the time we reached it, and the "shopping list" indicated that all five of my former allies were somewhere to the southwest, the direction we'd just come from.

My first inclination was to head northeast, as far from the Careers as possible. Then I saw something too tempting to pass up: one of the tributes from Ten – the girl, I desperately hoped – was all alone in the northwestern section of the arena, the area I'd occupied on the first day. It would be a huge relief to eliminate one of the tributes who posed an actual threat to me. The Career pack was virtually invincible at the moment, and the knowledge that they were hunting me and I couldn't turn the tables was driving me crazy.

I stepped away from the golden horn and was bending to pick up the tent and backpack when Three interrupted, saying "Can you at least tell me where we're going now? I know I don't have any say in the decision, but since I'm along for the ride regardless, it'd be nice to be informed."

She'd hardly said a word since last night, so her long speech took me by surprise. "I'm – uh, _we're_ – going after the District Ten tribute to the northwest of the horn." She said nothing, so I decided to explain my reasoning. "I'm hoping it's the girl. My mentor told me to take care of her as early as possible, and I figured I should make an effort to do _something_ I was supposed to." I didn't think she'd understand my eagerness to seek out a real fight, so I omitted that detail.

"Oh, so ditching five of the strongest players in these Games in favor of the cripple from District Three wasn't part of your brilliant plan?" I frowned before realizing that Three was teasing me.

"Not really," I said, smiling slightly. "Varius probably demolished half the control room when I ran off with you during the bloodbath."

"I doubt my mentor has even noticed he still has a live tribute in the arena," Three said grimly. "Not that I blame him, of course," she added hurriedly. "Whatever happened during his Games must have been really awful."

Once we'd started walking, I sifted through my mind in an attempt to recall the specifics of District Three's only victory. I couldn't pin down the exact year – Varius would be disappointed – but I remembered that the arena had been indoors, a mazelike enclosure full of mechanized traps. The recording of those Games had given me nightmares when I was younger. I still hated the idea that the arena itself could kill me if I wasn't able to outsmart it.

Hours later, I was hungry, sweaty and frustrated. Alternating between a walk and a jog, I had to have covered more than ten miles, and there was still no sign of the tribute from Ten.

"Maybe she's not here anymore," Three said, echoing my thoughts. "We're way past the spot where we camped the first night. The edge of the arena can't be far. Why would she stay in one place all day?"

Her question was punctuated by the sound of a cannon firing. Had the Careers gotten tired of trailing a day behind me and decided to track someone else? I was sure Quintus and Glint, at least, were itching to get a few kills under their belts.

"Okay, I give up," I said. "Let's stop and eat. It's not going to get dark tonight anyway, so we can look for Ten later. Or maybe we'll get lucky and she'll find us."

"Ah, the great Neera Salotti: the only person who would consider discovery by a tribute who got a ten in training _lucky_," smirked Three as I set her on the ground.

It was the first time she'd said my name. Well, second, including her comment during the interview, but that didn't count.

I must've made a weird noise or something, because she glanced up at me and said "What? Didn't think I knew your name? Or is it that you'd rather I called you 'District Two?'"

"Neera's fine," I said. "Oh, before I forget…" I pulled the knife from my sword belt, holding it out to her, hilt-first.

She stared at me warily, making no move to take the knife. "Why would you give me a weapon?" she asked. "Is this some kind of honor thing for you? You don't want to kill me when I'm unarmed?"

"You ask too many questions," I said. "I'm giving you a knife because, as you pointed out, we just became neighbors with one of the most dangerous tributes in this arena."

"I'm not going to use the knife on anyone, so you might as well keep it," she countered. "I'd rather die than go home with blood on my hands."

I remembered how she'd avoided the weapons in the Training Center. "Fine," I said. "Just take the knife. You don't have to hurt anyone with it. It'll make anyone who thinks you're an easy target think twice, and I'll kill them before they realize you won't use it."

She took the knife reluctantly, but kept arguing. "Aren't you afraid I'll kill you in your sleep?"

I bared my teeth in a predatory imitation of a smile. "You can try," I told her. She fell silent.

The anthem sounded, confirming my suspicion that dusk was going to be permanent tonight. Only one face was projected in the sky: the girl from Nine. I tried and failed to recall her location from the electronic list – she hadn't been in the western half of the arena, that much I knew.

There hadn't been much action today, so the people of the Capitol would be getting bored. I hoped to make things more interesting the next day, to forestall Gamemaker interference, if nothing else.

When we'd both downed some food and water, I said, "I want to cover a couple more miles before we set up camp. At the very least, we can throw the Careers off if they've come looking for us." Once we were moving again, I angled southeast, intending to sleep due east of the Cornucopia.

It seemed to be getting brighter and hotter as I walked, but I shrugged it off as a product of my exertions. Eventually, I decided we were far enough from our original position to settle down for the night, which I proceeded to do quietly while Three sat watching.

As I crawled into the tent, I looked down at her. "Before you ask, I'm not going to kill you tonight," I said.

"Tomorrow, then?" she asked.

"Probably."


	10. Revelation

Something brushed my left shoulder, rousing me instantly. Before conscious thought had a chance to take over, I grabbed at the point of contact, yanking sharply forward and down. There was a sharp _crack_, followed immediately by a cry of pain.

Only then did my brain manage to restart.

District Three!

_Shit_.

"Are you okay?" I asked, turning to face the younger girl.

She had scooted back against the canvas wall of the tent, as far from me as she could get without actually going outside. Her left arm dangled at an alarming angle, and her face was ashen.

"I think my arm might be broken at the elbow, but we've got bigger problems right now," she said through gritted teeth. "Can't you feel how hot it's getting? I think the Gamemakers sent some kind of killer heat wave."

_Double shit._

Now that she'd pointed it out, I did notice the increased temperature. If she hadn't woken me up, would I have roasted to death in my sleep?

"Okay, let's get out of here." I was already shoving our blanket, food and water bottles into the pack. "Leave the tent. I'll either come back for it later or find a new one."

I couldn't move fast enough carrying both the injured girl and the tent; I just hoped I was choosing the right resource to save.

I scrambled out of the tent, followed much more slowly by my companion, who now had two unusable limbs. It was even hotter outside. I strapped the backpack on over my chest, and motioned to her to put her good arm around my neck. Together, we heaved her awkwardly onto my back.

Three was squinting up at the sky as I stumbled forward under my double burden.

"Overlapping heat sources," she said.

"What?"

"I think the Gamemakers have simulated two suns instead of one. They move at different speeds – actually, one probably doesn't move at all, just hovers above this side of the arena. Whenever both suns are overhead, this part of the arena will get hot. Then one will pass the other, so this side and the middle will both be normal. There's probably another part that gets freezing cold when the sun sets."

_Oh_. "We'll have to test your theory later. For now, stop looking at the sun. Suns. Whatever. It isn't good for your eyes."

I broke into a fast jog, trying to ignore the agonized sounds my companion made as I jostled her broken arm. Ahead, I could see the heat as visible ripples in the air above the sand, shimmering every time I took a step. I was traveling in what I thought was a direct line toward the center of the arena, hoping my sense of direction hadn't picked today to abandon me.

I'm not sure how long I ran. It felt like an eternity.

After a while, I noticed Three had stopped moaning. Her one good arm was limp around my neck; I thought she'd probably passed out from heat, shock or both.

I wasn't sure I could forgive myself if she died because I'd accidentally injured her.

Finally – _finally_ – the air became cooler. We had to be nearing the Cornucopia. I slowed a little, trying to marshal some strength in case I was running straight into the arms of the Career pack.

The golden horn was a glimmer on the horizon by the time I came to a stop. I didn't see any signs of life, Career or otherwise. I lowered the unconscious Three to the sand, her head flopping sideways until I steadied it. I sat beside her, unfastening the sword from my belt and setting it alongside her broken arm. It would be best to splint it before she woke up, since the pain would probably knock her back out almost immediately.

Probing her elbow with a few gentle fingers revealed that it was hyperextended, and a sharp chip of bone seemed lodged near the joint. Thankful for the bandage roll, I fished it out of the bottom of the backpack, laid Three's arm across my knees, and began to secure my sword's scabbard to the inside of the arm with the bandage.

That done, I carefully felt for her pulse, relieved to note that it was normal and her breathing was deep and even. I lifted her head into the crook of my arm, pouring a trickle of water into her mouth. She didn't swallow at first, and the precious liquid trickled down her chin and darkened the collar of her shirt. Then she took a long, shuddering breath and began to gulp the water, eyes still tightly shut.

After draining almost a quarter of the jug, she turned her head away. I pressed the cool plastic mouth to my lips and drank the remainder of the water, returning the empty jug to my pack. I was still out of breath from our escape from the desert-turned-oven, but I dragged myself upright and scanned my surroundings to make sure we remained undisturbed. Then I sat back down and drained half of another water bottle, leaving us with slightly less than one full jug.

I sat, elbows propped on my knees, mind blank, until I saw my companion stirring. She coughed twice, moaned, and pushed herself to a sitting position with her good arm.

"Are you okay, Mem- ah, District Three?" I asked.

"My arm is throbbing, and my right leg aches, but otherwise I'm fine. What happened?"

"You must've passed out while I was getting us out of the heat," I told her. "When you feel up to it, we need to find water."

She sighed. "Find tributes with water and kill them, you mean." She said it flatly, sounding too tired to be upset.

"I'm afraid so. I'd like to find pain suppressants too, so your arm won't hurt so much. I hope someone other than my district partner has a first aid kit."

Something shifted in her eyes when I mentioned getting her pain pills. Relief, no doubt, or maybe incredulity. Both? A moment later, her face was so blank I thought I'd imagined the fleeting expression. "Let's go then," she said. "How far to the Cornucopia?"

I pointed to the golden speck in the distance. "Not far," I told her. "Do you...I mean, would you like to stay here while I go check the shopping list? The Careers might be there." The thought of leaving her alone with her ruined leg and broken arm, even for a few minutes, caused icy fear to grip my spine.

I was pleased when she started shaking her head before I'd even finished the question.

"Okay," I said, getting to my feet. "Hop on, then."

It wasn't a hop, of course; situating her on my back was even more difficult than before, now that one of her arms was forced to stay straight from shoulder to wrist. Her right arm gripped my neck in something approaching a chokehold, but I didn't say anything.

I approached the Cornucopia with slow caution. The Careers were absent, but a tall boy with black hair stood reading the list, his back to us. I craned my neck to mouth "knife" to the girl on my back, and after a moment of confusion, she handed it to me. I crept toward the boy on silent feet, getting as close as I dared before stopping to take aim.

The knife was intended for hunting, not throwing, so the balance was terrible for what I had in mind. I silently thanked Varius for forcing me to practice hitting targets with all kinds of projectiles, something I'd hated at the time.

"Hey!" I shouted, feeling Memorie jerk in surprise at the sudden noise. The boy spun around, and I loosed the knife toward his neck. It slid into his flesh with a soft sound of impact, and he fell to the ground. I hurried forward, dropping my companion to the sand as I moved. I'd intended for the knife to sever his trachea and jugular, resulting in a relatively quick death. This wound was still fatal, but not clean or merciful.

I stood over the boy, meeting his terrified gaze for a split second before plunging my sword in beside the knife and watching the light leave his eyes. His cannon fired, and I withdrew sword and knife from his body, wiping them clean on his shirt.

His pack sat a few yards away. A quick inspection revealed that it contained two half-full jugs of water, several blankets and a flashlight. I decided to take his pack in addition to mine – with the loss of the tent that morning I could afford the extra weight.

Reluctantly, I returned to Memorie, who was sprawled on the sand where I'd dropped her, cradling her broken arm. She wasn't crying this time, which was a relief. I walked back to her, setting both packs at her feet. "Did I hurt you?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Just jostled my arm a bit on the way down." She spoke in calm, even voice like she was trying to reassure me. It made me wonder what my face looked like. "That tribute," she continued, "He was from District Five. I saw his number disappear from the list when he died."

I nodded, not sure what to say.

We had enough water for now, so when I looked at the electronic board, I scanned for a first aid kit. Near the bottom was "10: recurved bow, tent, wool blanket, water, first aid kit; SE." Southeast. That would be the cold, dark side of the arena, if Three's theory were correct. Out of curiosity, I looked at the second listing for District Ten, the one I'd pursued for a full day with no success. The location given was south-southwest, far from yesterday's bearing.

_Whoever that is has figured out the double-sun thing,_ I thought. He or she had been on the daylight side during the afternoon and evening, when it was safe, and then backtracked to the opposite side of the arena in anticipation of the morning heat wave.

I turned back to Memorie, filling her in on my plan. "It's going to get cold and dark quickly to the east of the Cornucopia, but we have a flashlight and blankets, and once we find Ten we'll have a tent too."

I noticed she looked pleased that I'd accepted her explanation of the strangely variable temperatures we'd been encountering.

We set off again, and it occurred to me that we'd been in almost constant motion since these Games began. The nature of the arena forced tributes to either keep moving between the hot and cold zones or to stay in the small temperate area around the Cornucopia, which wasn't really an option now that the Careers had claimed it. The miles I'd covered were wearing me down, so I guessed that the weaker tributes were suffering from significant fatigue.

As the air got colder, I increased my pace, both to stay warm and because I was racing the setting sun. I wasn't keen on the idea of hunting in the dark. At one point, we heard a cannon fire.

"I hope that wasn't the guy we're looking for," I said aloud.

"_I_ hope that wasn't some poor tribute dying of cold in the area you're taking us to," countered Memorie, surprising me. She'd been so quiet I half thought she'd fallen asleep.

I laughed. "I'm not going to let you freeze to death, if that's what you're worried about," I told her. "It'd be awfully anticlimactic after keeping you around this long."

She snorted, but I couldn't tell if the sound indicated mirth or skepticism. "No, we certainly can't have that," she said, before lapsing back into silence.

I had almost decided to give up the search for the night by the time we encountered another tribute. It was a stocky boy, and the fact that he stood in front of a red tent led me to believe he was our target, the boy from Ten.

My guess was all but confirmed when he saw us, shouted something unintelligible, and grabbed an arrow for his heavy-looking bow. I felt Memorie try to slip to the ground, anticipating that I'd put her down for the fight ahead, but I reached back and held her in place. She paused, but resumed her hold.

The pale-haired boy loosed his arrow, and I took it in the chest, too weighed down to dodge effectively. The dark shaft stuck in the two backpacks strapped to my front, and I took a fleeting moment to hope that it hadn't punctured any of our water bottles.

The boy fitted another arrow to the string, and this time I moved toward him, drawing my sword awkwardly to avoid slicing Memorie's leg. He released the arrow, but it went wide. He had just picked up a third arrow with shaking hands when my sword point found his throat. Emitting a sound like a growl, he tried to hit me with his bow, but I kicked it easily out of his hand and into the growing darkness.

I was surprised when he spoke to me.

"Stupid Careers," he hissed, ignoring the fact that the movement of his throat had caused my sword to send a fat trickle of blood down his neck. "I hate you all," he went on. "I never stood a chance in this arena, but Leah does. She'll kill you all, even you with your eleven and that idiot boy with his ten. She's just as strong as you, and a whole hell of a lot smarter. She'll kill you!"

I paused to make sure he was finished with his tirade. When he stayed silent, glaring at me, I swept my sword across his throat with enough force to separate his head from his body. The cannon fired. Blood warmed my front, flowing in rivers down my legs. I felt Memorie fling herself from my back, heard her retching somewhere behind me.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to purge the anger and adrenaline from my system.

The boy's belongings, which included the first aid kit I was after, were in his tent. I took the bow and arrows too, pausing to add the one lodged in my backpacks to the collection. It was nearly dark – and very cold – so I decided to leave the second arrow wherever it had landed until morning.

I walked back to my companion, who looked up at me and flinched. Right. I was still covered in blood. Not much I could do about it, though. Our water had to be saved for drinking, not washing. Memorie refused to acknowledge me again, though, so I returned to the tent, stripped out of my arena uniform, and wrapped myself in the biggest blanket I could find.

I crept back outside, switching on the flashlight as I went.

"Memorie?" I whispered. "I got rid of the blood. We need to go inside now. It's cold."

She looked up at me, brow furrowed.

"What?" I asked, mimicking her question from the previous day. "Didn't think I remembered your name? Or would you rather I kept calling you 'District Three?'"

A tiny smile lit her face. "Memorie is fine."

She let me help her into the tent. With the flashlight, I determined that there was a bottle of pain pills in the coveted first aid kit, and I shook two capsules into Memorie's palm, passing her a jug of water to drink afterwards.

I handed her two of our blankets and some food, and we ate in shivering silence. "I'm sorry about your arm," I said after a bit, breaking my own rule against unnecessary talking in the tent.

"It's okay," she replied. "No, really," she continued, perhaps guessing at the incredulity on my face. "It was obviously a reflex or something; you didn't make a conscious decision to hurt me. And you _did_ warn me to stay away while you were sleeping, even if you didn't exactly tell me what would happen if I touched you."

I couldn't think of a suitable response, so we slipped back into silence. We sat like that until the anthem began to play, and I scrambled out of the tent, clutching my blanket around me.

The first tribute to appear was the boy from Five I'd killed by the Cornucopia. Next came the girl from Six, the unexplained cannon we'd heard earlier. Finally, the boy from Ten was shown, looking much younger and happier in his photograph, so unlike the tribute who'd proclaimed his hatred for me an hour ago.

I crawled back into the comparative warmth of the tent after Memorie withdrew her head, the only thing she'd subjected to the frigid outside air. Once I'd pulled a second blanket over myself, it wasn't too cold. I was glad this tent was as small as our blue one, though, since it forced us to sleep close together.

"Are you going to kill me now?" Memorie's voice was soft and unafraid.

"Will you stop asking that? It's annoying me," I hissed back.

I almost thought she smiled, but it was too dark to be sure.

I fell into an uneasy sleep, mentally replaying the dead boy's promise that his district partner would kill all the Careers.


	11. Misconstrued

I awoke automatically at what I assumed was my usual time, though it was still cold and dark in this part of the arena. As if triggered by my awakening, a cannon fired, causing Memorie to jerk upright.

She heard me move and sighed, no doubt recalling her unpleasant surroundings. "Who do you think that was?" she asked.

I shrugged before realizing she couldn't see me, then said, "Your guess is as good as mine."

"Do we need to leave now?"

"Not until it's lighter," I told her. Staying in one place for so long might give the Careers an opportunity to finally pin us down, but even that was better than the possibility of running into unknown tributes in the dark. "In the meantime, you'd better take more of these," I said, groping around for the pain medicine and handing it to her.

"Thanks," she said, her cold fingers brushing mine as she accepted the bottle. There was a soft rattling sound as she counted pills into her palm, then silence as she searched for a water jug.

"I'm going after the girl from Ten today," I said into the darkness, not sure if I was talking to Memorie or myself. "We know she's figured out how the arena works, which means she'll have to pass through the temperate zone at least once a day. And if she's already so close, I doubt she'll be able to resist going to the Cornucopia to look at the list, so I'll wait for her there."

"The boy – her partner – said her name was Leah," Memorie reminded me.

I wanted to shout at her, tell her I didn't care what the girl's name was, only that she was a threat and I had to kill her. The boy from Ten had unnerved me with his calm assurance that his district partner was capable of taking on the Careers, and I was short-tempered because of it.

"Right," I said tersely. I still wanted to yell.

"Do you remember which tributes are dead?" Memorie asked. "If we can list all the casualties so far, we'll be able to figure out whose cannon fired this morning when we get to the Cornucopia."

I'd been thinking in terms of numbers – _twelve down, eleven to go_ – not people or districts. "All I know is that there are twelve dead counting the cannon this morning," I replied.

"Okay. That helps. Let's see…there's my district partner; the boys from Five and Six; the girls from Six, Eight and Nine; the boy from Ten, and both from Eleven and Twelve." It was light enough now that I could see her counting them on her fingers. "Yes, that's eleven," she went on. "Now we just have to see who else is missing from the shopping list."

"Let's pack up," I said. "By the time we're ready to leave, there'll be enough light to hunt by." Suiting my words, I slipped outside, shedding my blanket and pulling on my shirt and pants. A cursory examination with my hands revealed that District Ten's blood had dried and was flaking off as I moved.

Disassembling our camp took less than half an hour, so it was barely dawn when we set off toward the Cornucopia. I was walking, not jogging, because I was now weighed down by two backpacks and a tent in addition to my human passenger. Walking kept me from jolting Memorie's injured arm, too.

I'd more than half expected to find the Careers camped around the golden horn when we reached it, but they were nowhere to be seen. There was a large patch of freshly disturbed sand, though, surrounded by many footprints. Closer inspection revealed that some of the sand was colored a dark reddish brown. Blood. Whoever had died this morning had been here when it happened.

Behind me, Memorie gasped. I cut short my investigation, whirling to see if she'd spotted some threat. Instead, she was standing where I'd set her down, resting her weight on her left leg as usual, and staring at the electronic list with wide eyes.

"It's District One!" she blurted, speaking more loudly than I liked.

I looked at her blankly. "What's District One?"

"That's who the cannon was for!" she said. "Come look!" Sure enough, there was only one remaining red-lettered listing for District One on the board.

"The alliance must've ended," Memorie went on, gesturing to the board a second time. "See? The other person from One went east, but Two and both from Four are listed as northwest."

"It's too early," I said, shaking my head. "With only five people in the alliance, they would stay together until the final eight or so. There must have been some kind of disagreement." I wondered whether the dead tribute was Glint or Chenille, and what he or she had done to make the other Careers angry enough to kill.

"Do you still want to wait for Leah?" Memorie asked, and it took me a second to place the unfamiliar name in spite of my recent reminder.

"I suppose. I'm tempted to go after whoever's left from One, but Ten is a higher priority." _Because she's a Career-killer, evidently._

I helped Memorie scramble into the Cornucopia, as far toward the pointed end of the horn as she could get, then took my own seat in the mouth of the horn. It was pleasantly shady in the Cornucopia, and I allowed myself to relax for a minute, enjoying the hard-to-come-by rest.

I considered setting some kind of snare in anticipation of Ten's arrival, but most of the traps I knew involved trees or rocks, comforts this arena lacked. My best bet was to hide in the horn and jump out when Ten got close, using surprise to my advantage. A familiar tingle of excitement flooded my limbs, my body gearing itself up for a challenging fight.

By the time Ten showed up, I'd been adrenaline-free for hours and my legs were protesting their prolonged immobility. I was fairly sure Memorie had fallen asleep against the back of the horn, but her face was in shadow and I couldn't be sure.

This method of hunting wasn't something we'd covered in training – my usual plan of attack involved spears and shouted taunts, the in-your-face approach. Memorie was hindering me already, and it was only our fifth day in the arena. _I'll kill her tonight,_ I thought.

And then I heard – faintly, she really was good – the whispered sound of feet on sand as my quarry finally arrived.

I should have waited until she was closer, but my body, kept motionless for too long, rebelled. As I flung myself out of the horn, I lifted my sword, squaring off with Ten. She didn't look nearly as surprised or terrified as I'd hoped.

"Hello, Neera," she called, holding her long spear at a defensive angle across her body. "Have you and your little friends been looking for me? Nice weather we've been having, don't you think?"

_Little friends?_ I assumed she meant the other Careers, although the word choice was rich coming from a girl who stood close to a foot shorter than me. "Looking for you?" I responded. "Well, I can't speak for Quintus and the others, but I've had more pressing business. I met your district partner, though. Charming boy, but not a very good shot. What was his name again?"

The smirk slipped from her lips and her pale brows drew together in anger. "His name was Warren Cress, bitch. He was a thousand times the person you are. He didn't deserve to die."

We were circling each other now, weapons at the ready. The spear would give her longer reach, but I'd have better leverage. She was light on her feet despite her stocky build. "Funny, I didn't see you there protecting him. Anyway, you should be thanking me – if I hadn't killed him, you might have to. Only one of us is leaving this arena."

She growled, lashing out with the spear. I sidestepped adroitly, a mocking smile spreading across my face. "You'll have to do a lot better than that," I said. We were close enough now that I didn't need to raise my voice. "Come on, show me how you got that ten, Ten."

Her face went slack as she appeared to gather her concentration. "It's the last thing you'll ever see, Two," she whispered.

And then she danced. I didn't have another word for it. The spear became an extension of her body, a limb she'd mastered in the womb. She was quick, easily as fast as me.

I shifted instantly into fighting mode, and as I slashed and wove, testing her defenses, I knew we'd be featured on every screen in Panem. After days of mismatched battles – slaughters, really – we were finally giving the audience a show.

I wasn't sure how long we circled, advancing and retreating with lightning-precise motions. I got past her blurring spear twice, slashing the fabric of her leggings at the hip and opening a minor gash in her upper left arm. Her spear had nicked my cheek, and I could feel drops of blood sliding down my face like tears.

"What the hell?" Ten took several steps back, disengaging from the fight. She stared over my shoulder with wide blue eyes. Wary of some trick, I backed up before turning to look.

Memorie knelt in the mouth of the Cornucopia, fearful gaze trained on me. I narrowed my eyes at her, trying to convey my urgency without words.

"Get back in the horn, Three," I commanded. I didn't wait to see whether she complied, spinning back to Ten with my sword raised. The redhead was still frowning at me, but her spear came up automatically in reaction to the threat.

"What are you doing with her?" Ten grated, and I opened my mouth to reply before realizing she was speaking to Memorie. A wave of rage washed through me, leaving me mute for a fraction of a second.

"Don't talk to her!" I spat, not sure which of them I was addressing.

"Why are you dragging this out?" asked Ten, and for a moment I thought she was referring to our altercation. Then she continued. "Are you keeping the girl around for your entertainment, Two? That's low even for one of you!" She resumed her attack, sending the spear's point flashing toward my ribs.

What did she mean, _for my entertainment_? I batted the spear aside, stepping closer to bring her into reach. She danced back…and then back again. I caught a glimmer of silver in her off hand as she brought it back and then forward with a flick.

I watched the shining metal arc through the air toward the golden horn. Toward Memorie. I nearly laughed with relief when she threw herself sideways into the sand, causing the knife to bury itself in the ground rather than in her chest.

I whirled toward the girl from Ten, moving faster than I thought I could. I grabbed the haft of her spear in my empty hand, and had time to see her eyes go wide before I yanked it from her grasp. I allowed sword and spear to clatter to the ground, leaping for her with my hands extended, talonlike. We collided with enough force to push the air from my lungs.

When we landed, I was on my back with Ten's hips crushing my legs. I heaved her off, lunging for her throat. My manicured nails glanced off her skin uselessly, leaving red scratches where I wanted lines of blood. She kicked me, boots making contact with my pelvic bone and my abdomen, knocking the wind out of me for a second time. I grunted in pain, but flung myself back toward her without bothering to catch my breath.

I saw her knife come up, but had neither the time nor the inclination to change trajectory. The blade glanced off my clavicle, biting into the skin but missing my jugular. I used my momentum to smash the hand with the knife. Ten screamed as the knife came free, then went silent as I cradled her skull and twisted, snapping her neck instantly.

Her cannon must've fired, but I couldn't hear it through the blood rushing in my ears.

I crawled to the Cornucopia. The ground seemed to be moving, and I laughed to myself as I zigzagged comically toward the golden horn. I dragged myself over the lip of the Cornucopia, studying the ragged trail of bloody handprints in my wake. The earth stopped shaking, and I propped myself against the inner wall of the horn. Blood dripped down my chest now, instead of down my left arm.

Memorie's face floated into my field of vision. Her mouth was moving, but I ignored her, grabbing the first aid kit from our pack instead. I dumped a mound of antibiotic powder onto my collarbone, hoping it would serve the double purpose of helping the blood clot. Then I stuck a flesh-colored adhesive bandage over it, tugging at the ragged edges where my shirt had been cut.

I rotated my shoulder, wincing in pain but deeming it fit for travel. Tossing the packs, followed by Memorie, out into the desert, I hauled myself after them. Then I remembered that the Career alliance was broken, its members scattered across the arena.

"Let's stay here for the night," I said, collapsing back onto the sand.

"Oh, now you talk!" Memorie sounded pissed, and I glanced at her in mild surprise. "I thought you'd been hit on the head or something, since you weren't answering me. Brain damage, you know. You're pale. You need to eat. You've lost a lot of blood. Why did you go after her like that? She could have killed you!"

I smiled. She was rambling. "I've hurt myself worse in the Training Center back home," I said, not caring that I was talking about something outlawed by the government. Hopefully everyone in the Capitol would think I meant the training before the Games, after I'd been chosen as tribute. "It looks worse than it is – I think she just scraped the skin off the bone. It doesn't even need stitches."

"Okay," she said faintly, handing me the package of dried fruit.

When I'd eaten my fill and consumed what I decided was an appropriate amount of water – it was never enough to quench my thirst – I flopped down on my back. I'd pay for my relaxation later with sand in my hair, but for now, it felt wonderful. Dehydration was finally setting in; I'd felt it affect my speed and strength during the fight with Ten. I'd known it would happen, of course – assumed so, at least, ever since I'd risen on my platform into bright desert sunlight. We'd been among the luckier tributes in this arena, though, with a steady if not bountiful supply of water.

"Why did you do it?" Memorie asked again. "Go after Leah unarmed like that? I thought maybe you were trying to emulate your mentor, but you made your other kills with weapons, so…"

"You watched Varius' Games?" I asked, sitting up abruptly. _Ouch_. I resisted the urge to clap a hand to my collarbone.

"Probably, but I was too young to remember them. Everyone talks about Varius, though. He embodies the brutality of Careers." She sounded vaguely apologetic, whether because she was talking about my mentor or stereotyping the Careers I couldn't tell. "Don't change the subject."

I sighed. "It wasn't a conscious decision, exactly," I said in answer to her original question. "I got mad." I could've said more, but decided against it, mainly because I was still trying to figure out my intense reaction to Ten throwing that knife.

"She thought she was being merciful, you know."

"How the f-" I cut myself off mid-curse and tried again. "How could killing an unarmed, nonthreatening person be an act of mercy?" I asked, incredulous. Memorie seemed to have a tendency to see the best in people, but this was going too far.

Memorie looked at me with something uncomfortably close to pity. "You heard her, Neera. She thought you were keeping me around as a…plaything. Compared to that, a knife in the heart would've seemed kind."

"Torturing you, you mean? There's no honor in torture. It's not like I need information from you – no more than you've given voluntarily, anyway. And I really didn't mean to break your arm." It was hard not to be disgusted with myself, looking through the eyes of weaker tributes. And then I was disgusted with myself for thinking like one of the weaker tributes. _Hell. This place is playing games with my head._

"Hmm, maybe," Memorie said, sounding unconvinced. "Why haven't you killed me, then? Why did you lose it when Leah tried to kill me? You say it all the time: only one victor, right?"

"I didn't _lose it_," I snapped. "And it definitely had nothing to do with her attempt to kill you. Ten was my target; I did what it took to eliminate her."

Memorie nodded. She had an indecipherable expression on her face. I turned away, busying myself with our tent. It was getting darker, leading me to wonder how dark nights were in the center of the arena by comparison with the two extremes where we'd spent most of our time.

"Why can't you walk anymore?" I asked, pounding a stubborn tent stake into the ground with my boot heel. "I saw your Reaping, and you walked to the stage." If she was going to ask hard questions, I was determined to return the favor.

"Technology, of course," Memorie said. "What do you expect from District Three?" Even with my back to her, I could hear the smile in her voice. "We manufacture body armor for the Peacekeepers. It's like a force field shaped to your arms, legs and torso. I modified the leg portion of a scrapped suit so that my knee couldn't bend. Then I could walk more or less normally. I mean, I certainly wasn't going to win any medals for gymnastics, but it was better than this." She gestured to her right leg with something that approached loathing.

"And they wouldn't let you wear it in the arena?"

"Of course not. You know the rules better than anyone. The only thing a tribute can carry into the arena is a district token. Wouldn't want to give me an unfair advantage, right?" The bitterness I'd heard on a few occasions was thick in her voice.

"So, if you had a suit of that armor now, could you use it? To fix your leg?" Wheels were spinning in my brain. I wondered if this was how Memorie felt all the time.

"A fully functional suit? I could totally work with that. The one I had at home was practically defunct, a really old model. Why are you smiling?" That last was aimed at me, as the widest grin I could remember wearing spread across my face.

"Because there was a suit of that armor by the Cornucopia on the first day!" I crowed. "I don't know who has it now – or if it's still in play at all – but I'll check." I trotted to the other side of the Cornucopia to look at the shopping list.

I spotted it immediately. "It's still here!" I called. "District One has it!" Here, finally, was the rush I'd expected to get from killing other tributes in the arena.

Back beside Memorie, I started to plan. "We'll go after One first thing in the morning," I said. "We'll know who it is soon. That would've been my first target anyway, since Quintus is still with both from Four." _And so I can break One's winning streak._

"You're just going to hand me a suit of armor that'll make me pretty near invincible?" She sounded like she had the night I handed her my knife.

"Hardly invincible," I smirked. "You can't exactly run a marathon even with the suit. Besides, there are gaps where the force fields meet. I'm counting on those when we hunt One. It'll just be nice not to carry you everywhere."

Memorie actually laughed. "Whatever you say, Neera."

We sat in silence for several more minutes, tilting our heads skyward when the anthem began to play. The first face belonged to Chenille, and I felt an odd jolt of mingled recognition, smugness and regret. Looked like the blonde beauty would be going home in a box. Then Leah's face appeared, and I was angry all over again.

"We should get some sleep." Memorie spoke as soon as the seal faded from the sky. Maybe she'd picked up on my renewed tension. "Then we can get an early start tomorrow."

"Sure."

I couldn't fall asleep, though, even lying in my cocoon of blankets, staring blankly at the canvas ceiling and listening to the soft murmur of Memorie's breathing. District Ten was determine to haunt me from beyond the grave, it seemed, first the boy vowing his partner would kill me and now the girl assuming I was tormenting Memorie for fun. After what I judged to be about three hours, I gave up entirely and crept out of the tent to stand watch. _Might as well do something useful._


	12. Trapped

The morning was remarkable only for my unusual level of exhaustion. I'd never fallen asleep the night before, and was stiff and irritable when Memorie emerged from the tent to get water for her pain pills. Nevertheless, we were on the move by the time the sun cleared the horizon, traveling due south in search of Glint.

South of the Cornucopia was a field of cacti, the cylindrical upright ones several feet taller than me. Some were so close together that I had to sidle past, my quadruple burden nearly brushing the deceptively soft-looking needles.

"You okay?" I called over my shoulder the third time this happened.

"Still fine, Neera," Memorie replied, her tone too soothing for my liking. "You might want to ask those water bottles how they're doing, though. I'm pretty sure you killed a few of them hugging that cactus just now."

"Fine, next time I'll let you try your luck with those needles." I hadn't _hugged_ the cactus; I was just making sure the one behind me didn't touch Memorie. Our arena uniforms wouldn't provide any protection from that kind of threat.

The endless cactus forest forced me to keep a slow pace, so it was after noon by the time we encountered another tribute. Memorie saw him before I did, though how I could have missed that much blood was a mystery to me. Maybe it was that the boy himself was no longer a shape I recognized as human, and I mistook him for an oddly colored part of the arena.

So when Memorie drew a sharp breath and tightened her arm around my neck, it took me a moment to figure out what had upset her. And then… "Holy shit," I breathed, stumbling forward.

"Look out!" Memorie cautioned, pointing to the ground near my feet. "See? Trap." She was right. Ropes were visible against the yellow sand, forming a weblike pattern around the wounded tribute. I could see a few metallic shimmers in the air between cacti, too: wires that had been part of the snare at one point.

The thing was extensive and complex. It must've taken hours to construct, and I couldn't begin to figure out how it was supposed to work. It didn't matter now. The trap obviously hadn't saved the boy who made it. I unslung the tent and packs from my chest and picked my way toward the center of the web, careful not to disturb rope or wires in case something remained active.

The boy had to be alive, or we would've heard a cannon and seen a hovercraft descend to claim the body. How he was alive, I didn't know. Both his legs were gone, but the stumps weren't bleeding that I could see. White streaks painted his face where tears had fallen and dried, leaving salt behind. On my back, Memorie made a small sound halfway between a sob and a whimper.

And the boy looked up.

He was lying on his side in a shallow pit, so he had to turn his neck at an uncomfortable-looking angle to stare up at us. "Glint?" he rasped, almost too quietly to be heard.

"No, it's Neera and Memorie," my companion said softly.

"He's insane," the boy whispered, gazing unseeingly into the sun.

Memorie slid down from my back, collapsing beside the boy as her leg refused to support her weight. She reached out and took one of his hands in each of hers, and when she spoke, her voice was thick with tears.

"Who? Glint? Did he do this to you?" _Glint? No way in hell,_ I thought.

But the boy was nodding. "He's insane," he repeated.

"Do you need anything?" Memorie asked. "Water, maybe?"

He nodded again, then made an awful croaking sound. I yanked Memorie out of his reach before I realized he was trying to laugh. "I have water," he said. "Food too. They're in my pack, which is over there." He pointed to the left side of the rope web, and I saw a sand-crusted orange backpack a short distance away, beside the remains of a campfire. "I can't get it, though," he went on. "Can't walk without legs." He croaked another laugh, then coughed, blood appearing on his lips.

Memorie looked up at me. I sighed and wordlessly went to retrieve the boy's supplies, still avoiding the remnants of the trap. Memorie took the pack from me and pulled out a jug of water. It was nearly full, and I wanted to tell her not to waste water on a dying boy, but couldn't bring myself to say the words. She carefully tipped the jug so he could drink.

When he finished, I asked, "Why did Glint do this to you?" _How?_ I wanted to add, and, _Why didn't he just kill you?_ Memorie shot me an angry look, but I ignored her. The boy would die regardless of what I did or said, and I needed information.

"How the hell should I know?" the boy spat, his voice fortified with rage. "He walked into my trap yesterday morning, but he had some kind of body armor, so he just ripped the wire apart. Then he found me, and…" He took a shuddering breath, looking as if he wanted to cry some more but couldn't.

"Shh," Memorie said, smoothing dark hair out of his face with a gentle hand. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. Have some more water." I glared at the back of her head.

The boy continued after his drink, though. "I could tell right away that something was wrong with him. With his mind, I mean. He kept muttering to himself. And he talked to me." The wounded tribute shivered as if with cold. "He thought I was someone else. His district partner, I think. But sometimes he knew I was me, not her, and got angry and hurt me. He yelled at me to bring Chenille – that's his partner; she's dead," the boy explained unnecessarily. "Anyway, he wanted me to bring her back to life, or become her, or something, and when I didn't, he cut off my legs with his axe." He spoke calmly, as though discussing a new shirt he'd bought.

"Why haven't you bled out?" I asked, bracing myself for Memorie's disgusted reaction. She didn't move or say anything, though, and when I stepped sideways to look at her face, I saw that it was contorted in anger.

"He cauterized the wounds," the boy replied. "Put the blade of his axe in the fire and sealed the stumps with it. He did other stuff too. I think I have internal bleeding. I begged him to kill me, but some of the time he called me Chenille and said he was going to keep me safe. Then, this morning, he just left. I thought I'd have to die of dehydration."

"Well, now you don't," I informed him. He tried to nod, but winced instead.

Memorie squeezed the boy's hands, and then allowed me to pick her up and carry her to the edge of the circle. I walked back to the center, drawing my sword. The boy looked up at me with pain-glazed eyes and smiled.

"I'm sorry this happened to you," I said quietly, knowing my words would sound empty to him but needing to say them anyway. "You're from District Eight, right?" He nodded. "You were pretty high on my kill list. I was afraid of your traps. It was only bad luck that Glint had armor." I told him, wishing for Memorie's ability to say something more comforting. "Glint will die, I promise."

"Good," he said, then tipped his head back and closed his eyes. My sword slid easily through his neck to sever his spinal column, killing him in seconds.

After the cannon sounded, I returned to Memorie. When I bent to reorganize our packs, she said, "I already consolidated the water and added his food to our pack. Let's get moving."

"Okay," I agreed, surprised by the hardness of her voice.

"Glint went that way," she informed me, pointing westward. "See the footprints?" She looked me in the eye as I helped her to her feet. "Neera, you have to find him and kill him before he does that to anyone else." Her eyes were dry, her mouth set in a determined line.

"Okay," I said again. "He has a good head start, though. Will your arm hurt too much if I jog?"

"No," she said. "Go as fast as you can. Wait-" her forehead wrinkled in thought. "You should leave me here with the tent. Take enough water and food for the day, and then come back once you've killed Glint. You'll catch up faster on your own."

I didn't even consider it. "Nope," I said resolutely, tossing her onto my back. "You look more like Chenille than any tribute in this arena, so there's no way I'm risking Glint finding you while I'm on the other side of the desert."

"But-" she began.

I cut her off. "It's not open for discussion, Three. Glint is insane. You're coming with me."

She huffed a frustrated sigh, but didn't argue further.

I took off at a fast jog, sticking to the trail of footprints Memorie had pointed out. The three packs bounced and chafed uncomfortably against my chest and shoulders, throwing my stride off. Together, they probably weighed less than Memorie, but at least she was a willing burden and thus, easier to carry.

After about an hour, I had to stop and catch my breath. Memorie handed me a jug of water, and I gulped half of it before realizing that now I'd have to deal with a stomach full of sloshing liquid as I ran. I ate a biscuit, hoping it would absorb some of the water, then started off again.

Tracking had never been my forte – I mean, I could tell which direction someone was going, whether they were walking or running; the basics – and I couldn't determine how old Glint's prints were. He was moving slower than us, so I assumed we were catching up, but he'd had at least five hours on us. To make matters worse, this was the hot side of the arena, and although it was past noon and therefore habitable, it was still warm enough to sap my strength rapidly.

By dusk, I was ready to collapse. We'd seen no indication that we were closer to catching Glint than we'd been that afternoon, and I suspected he'd had more than a five-hour lead.

After the first stop, we'd paused to rest three more times. During our last break, I had covertly watched Memorie swallow her pain medicine, noticing she'd doubled her usual dose. _Her arm must be killing her,_ I thought.

"Are we stopping already?" Memorie asked, when it became clear I wasn't planning to peel myself off the ground anytime soon.

_Already?_ "Unless you want to carry me, I need a breather." If she made a single comment about the great Neera Salotti getting tired, I might break her other arm. To her credit, she merely nodded, though I could tell she wanted nothing more than to be back on Glint's trail.

A bare five minutes into my rest, a cannon fired.

Without waiting for Memorie to say anything, I heaved myself to my feet, trying to ignore my aching legs and shoulders. "Come on," I said to Memorie. "Odds are that wasn't another of Glint's victims, but I'm guessing you don't want to chance it."

"You have to admit the odds haven't been in my favor lately," she agreed, but she looked sympathetic as she helped me adjust the layers of packs on my chest.

I called on reserves of strength I didn't know I had, breaking into a jog the moment Memorie was settled. This time, I managed to find a comfortable pace, which I maintained as I angled back towards the center of the arena.

The sound of the anthem echoed across the desert and I felt Memorie jerk against my back. "How long was I out?" she asked, leaning forward to speak into my ear.

"You were asleep? That explains why you got so heavy all of a sudden! Dead weight." I was joking, of course – I hadn't even known she had taken a nap, and everything felt like it weighed several tons at the moment.

She laughed, her breath ruffling my hair, before turning her attention to the sky. The first face was the girl from Seven. She was followed by the boy from Eight, my mercy kill.

"Only two," I commented. "Too bad neither was Glint."

She might have replied, but her words were lost against the much louder ones that echoed from the sky. I recognized Tesla Monogram's voice from what seemed like a past lifetime. "Attention all tributes," he boomed. "To celebrate the end of your first week in the arena, the Gamemakers would like to invite you to a feast at the Cornucopia! It will begin tomorrow at dawn. Plan accordingly, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

God, that was going to throw a wrench into our plans. We'd need to go to the feast – if the Gamemakers were feeling generous, it was sure to be a sign of hard times to come. Likely, that would be our last chance to stock up on food and water before the going got tough. Unfortunately, the boy we were tracking was out of his mind. I had no way of knowing if he'd show up at the feast or not, meaning that we'd probably lose his trail in the morning.

"Can we find him before the feast?" From the disappointment in her tone, Memorie had already reached the same conclusion.

"We can try," I replied. Knowing Memorie, she'd forgotten why we'd gone after Glint in the first place, but I hadn't. I wanted that body armor.

I picked up my pace, my lungs beginning to burn with exertion. It was dark enough that I fished the flashlight out of the top backpack and flicked it on, training it on Glint's footprints.

In another hour, I halted. It wasn't a voluntary act; my legs simply refused to move another step. Memorie slid to the ground and I followed her a split second later. By the glow of my flashlight, her face looked ashen. I remembered that it had been hours since she last took a pain pill and handed her the small white bottle as I labored to catch my breath.

"You did great, Neera. Just rest, okay? We don't need the tent tonight. It'll just slow us down in the morning anyway." I mumbled an affirmative.


	13. Feast

The sky was still dark when Memorie's scream woke me up. I reached out for her, panicked and disoriented. I couldn't even remember falling asleep, and exhaustion clung to my brain like fog.

After several breathless moments, my hand met yielding flesh. "Neera?" Memorie whispered.

"Yeah. What happened?" My free hand was still on the hilt of my sword, ready to lash out at any threat.

"Nightmare," she replied, and now I could hear the residual terror in her voice. A second later, she shifted under my hand, crawling awkwardly toward me. Before I could protest, she had climbed practically into my lap. I could feel her shaking.

"Glint?" I asked, removing my hand from the sword to put both arms around her.

She made a sound that could have been a yes or a sob. Maybe it was both. "You're fine, okay?" I murmured, stroking her hair with one hand. "He's not getting through me. No one's going to hurt you." Thankfully, she didn't burst into tears or do anything I was emotionally unequipped to handle. After a few minutes, she stopped shivering and fell asleep with her head on my shoulder.

I lay awake until the sky began to grow light, piecing together tactics for the upcoming feast. By the time I'd decided to wake Memorie, I hadn't come up with much. Memorie listened to my list of cautions as we started, with painful slowness due to my strained muscles, toward the Cornucopia.

"There are nine tributes left," I informed her, though she probably knew that better than I did. "Worst case scenario, all seven of the others show up at the feast. I don't want to leave you alone in case someone runs into you leaving the horn, so you'll have to stay on my back, I think. I'm leaving our stuff here so I won't be horribly weighed down. Hopefully we'll get back to it before anyone else does.

"I'll get my back to the Cornucopia as quickly as I can so you'll be harder to target. You have to keep an eye on the top of the horn and warn me if anyone tries to climb over."

"And if we see Glint?" she asked.

"If he's mentally together enough to come to the feast, he'll be after food and water like everyone else. I'll kill him at the Cornucopia if I can; otherwise, we'll follow him afterwards. Who knows, maybe someone else will get him. This could easily be a second bloodbath."

The sun was resting on the eastern horizon like a fat yellow balloon by the time we spotted the Cornucopia in the distance. I drew my sword and told Memorie to take out her knife, even if she was still opposed to using it. I advanced with caution, scanning the surrounding area every few seconds.

I saw Quintus first, walking toward the Cornucopia with Atlas and Mari from the northeast. He saw us too, and when we were close enough, he and I exchanged curt nods. Mari frowned at me and Atlas looked confused. I wished I could read their minds, especially my partner's.

A huge table had been placed in front of the Cornucopia. It was surrounded by a sparking wall of energy – sparking, I suspected, so the tributes would see it and avoid the table until it was lowered.

On the opposite side of the table were two boys and a girl, none of whom stood out in my mind from either the Reapings or the interviews. They all appeared to be on their own – no alliances there. All looked scared and weak from lack of nourishment. "Do you remember anything about them?" I asked my companion, searching for any potential edge in the upcoming fight.

"All I know is their names, and I don't want to think about those if they're about to be killed," she responded.

"All right," I said. Reaching back with my free hand, I patted her shoulder awkwardly. "We're going to be fine. We'll grab some food, go back for our stuff, and then keep hunting Glint." She was silent. "Hold onto that knife," I added, praying that she'd use it if necessary.

Tesla Monogram's technologically magnified voice rang out over the arena, making me jump. "Greetings, tributes! Welcome! The feast will begin in five…four…three…two…one!" A gong sounded, reminding me forcibly of the beginning of the Games.

I lurched forward, nearly tripping over my own feet. A few yards away, Quintus sprinted for the table, flanked by Atlas and Mari, who wielded a trident and sword respectively. I deliberately avoided the Career group, knowing they'd rather kill me, their biggest obstacle, than get food.

The three unknown tributes had raced forward too, the girl grabbing a bottle of water and a loaf of bread and retreating, the boys each reaching for one of the empty backpacks propped against the table legs and beginning to jam them with food.

Suddenly, I realized that the ground shook with tremors beneath my feet. I vaguely remembered the same feeling after my fight with the girl from Ten. Apparently I hadn't been imagining things after all. Maybe the Gamemakers were sending a localized earthquake to make the feast a bit more interesting.

I reached the table and let Memorie slide to the ground, grabbing an empty pack and shoving a water bottle inside, keeping half my attention on Quintus and the other tributes.

The ground was shaking more vigorously now. I heard Quintus shout something, but ignored him. I had to grip the edge of the table with one hand, using the other to cram food into the pack.

"Neera." Continuing to grab food, I looked back to see my ally frowning at the ground.

"Problem?"

"It's not an earthquake. It's some kind of animal."

That got my attention. Just in time, too – I turned around to see a huge, scaly head burst from the ground, ripping aside assorted cacti as it emerged. The mutt hissed, showing a mouth filled with teeth the length of my forearm.

"Worm!" screamed Mari, turning to run.

The thing had emerged closest to the Careers, and Quintus and Mari were beating a hasty retreat. Atlas, though, was staring at the thing as though mesmerized. He took a single, unsteady step backwards, and the monster was on him, bearing down with its gigantic tooth-filled maw. Its jaw closed and it reared back, taking Atlas with it. Only his feet showed; everything else was in the worm's mouth.

Mari shrieked, running back toward her doomed district partner. As I watched, everything seemed to slow.

Quintus shouted, reaching for Mari a split second too late. The worm mutt gave a convulsive gulp, and Atlas' feet vanished. Mari slashed at the creature with her sword, and it swooped to devour her too. Quintus hurled a spear from a hundred feet away and it sank deep into the worm's side, but didn't seem to faze it.

Two cannons sounded.

The worm-thing roared.

I watched Quintus' broad back as he retreated into the desert with two packs of valuable food and water, as well as his remaining spears. The other tributes were lucky; they were on the far side of the table from the mutt, and were also making a dash for the open desert.

"Run!" I shouted to Memorie, likewise turning to flee. I'd gotten as far as the ring of circular platforms when I remembered: she couldn't run. She couldn't even walk.

I was racing back toward the mutt before the sane portion of my brain – _did I even have one, at this point?_ – could protest.

The giant worm-thing towered at least sixteen feet above the sand, but now I could see that it was eyeless, blind. Thank goodness for small favors. It probably tracked its prey using the tiny tremors of the ground produced by feet, tunneling along until it was directly underneath, then emerging to devour its meal in that cavernous maw.

Memorie wasn't moving. I was.

The worm couldn't sense her. It could certainly sense me, a fact that became abundantly clear when the mutt dove for me, jaws wide.

"Memorie, don't move! It can't see you if you hold still!"

I could practically hear her rolling her eyes. "Now _that_, I can do!" she called back.

I winced, waiting to see if the mutt could hear – if so, it would probably go for Memorie, who was still in easy reach. Either it couldn't, or it was fixated on me, because it roared again, lunging higher out of its burrow to follow me.

I ran toward it, trying not to think about what the sharp teeth could do to my body if I wasn't fast enough. I was, though, I knew it with a confidence that could only come from years of training. I waited until the mutt was above me, ready to dive, before dropping to the sand and somersaulting to my feet on the monster's other side.

Quintus' spear was still there. I yanked it out, stumbling backwards when it came free of the mutt's flesh easily. For all its vicious fangs, the thing appeared to share more characteristics with an earthworm than a snake, with soft, flexible skin rather than protective scales.

It had figured out where I'd disappeared to, and was bringing that mouth back to bear. I jogged backwards, keeping a close eye on it as I drove my feet into the ground with more force than necessary. As I'd hoped, the thing tried to pursue me, dragging more and more of its bloated body from the hole in the ground. Away from Memorie.

Slashing with my stolen spear, I managed to open a gash in the worm's flesh. Again, it didn't react to the wound, and I wondered if it was capable of feeling pain. Normally, I'd go for the heart or the brain of a beast like this, but I assumed it had multiple hearts and a primitive nervous system, so that wouldn't work.

_The hard way it is, then,_ I thought, and made an arcing downwards slice with the spear, cutting several feet of flesh behind the worm's head. Repeating the motion on the other side was more difficult, and meant I had to cross in front of the dangerous head, since the worm's body was easily eight or nine feet in diameter, not something I could climb over.

I managed it, dodging the blindly snapping jaws to open another few yards of pallid skin. Now I could see glimpses of the thing's internal organs, bluish and whitish blobs under a second, translucent layer of skin.

Aiming for the gap I'd made, I used the spear to slice down again, this time puncturing the second skin and sending a gush of disgusting-smelling fluid down the mutt's curved side. It still didn't acknowledge that it was wounded. It dove for me again, and I leaped out of reach, my lungs and muscles burning.

This obviously wasn't working. At least, not fast enough for me to finish the job before my energy reserves ran out. _Time for a new plan._

I sprinted away from the head, hugging the worm's side so that it couldn't grab me without damaging itself in the process. The mutt turned to follow me, ponderously trying for fold itself nearly double in pursuit of its prey. While the head was too far away to be a threat, I skidded to a halt, drawing my sword. I drove the spear into the worm's body, driving it deep enough that it wouldn't tear free under my weight. Then I did the same with the sword, a little higher.

By swinging my dangling body side-to-side, I worked up enough momentum to jerk the spear free, stabbing it in again a few feet up the worm's side. The thing had finally managed to drag its head around, so I decided that would have to be close enough. I heaved myself sideways and up, feeling at least one of the muscles in my left arm creak in protest under the unusual angle of strain.

A moment later, I was atop the smooth, sloping body, pulling sword and spear gingerly free so as not to upset my tenuous balance. I slid forward on my knees and elbows until I reached the twin cuts I'd made behind the worm's head. Unable to get enough room to work with the spear short of falling off, I used my sword to hack at the expanse of skin in front of me. I connected the gashes I'd made earlier, and the outer layer of skin stretched open, baring the thing's sensitive insides. I drove the sword straight down, chopping clumsily sideways.

The mutt screeched, a high, insect-like wail that made me want to clap hands to my ears. I repeated the motion, laying open the inner skin and allowing a torrent of essential bodily juices to pour out. The toothed maw hung forward, nearly touching the sand. It was only connected to the rest of the body by the skin near the ground, which I'd been unable to sever. The rest of the monster still thrashed, but only succeeded in spilling more and more tissue from the gaping hole I'd cut.

As the thing deflated, I lost purchase and slid forward, splashing into the mess of nerves and organs before I could stop my fall. I peeled myself from the sticky sand, bracing myself on one of the larger, more solid chunks of worm innards.

And then my hands tangled in long, dark hair, and I threw myself backwards, away from what I now recognized as Mari's partially dissolved corpse. I scrambled free of the dying mutt and vomited onto the sand.

When I was finished retching, I staggered upright, leaning on the spear for support. I returned to where I'd left Memorie, only slowing to a reasonable pace once I'd skirted the worm's thick coils and confirmed that she was unscathed.

"Well," I said as I reached her, "at least now we have what's left of the feast all to ourselves."

"And we're no longer in danger of _becoming_ a feast," Memorie added with a tiny smile. Wordlessly, she pulled the spear from my grasp and used it to limp to the table by the Cornucopia. I joined her, watching until she seemed to sense my gaze and looked up.

This was yet another expression I'd never seen before. I took an involuntary step back. "What?" I said defensively. I wiped my face with the back of my sleeve, hoping to wipe the grime away but instead merely redistributing the worm guts smeared around my person.

"That was…impressive," Memorie said.

"I just butchered a worm!" I blurted, inexplicably annoyed. "Killing the girl from Ten was impressive. Killing Glint and Quintus will be impressive. This was…" I trailed off, not sure what point I was trying to make.

"Maybe it takes more skill to kill other tributes," Memorie granted, "but that's not something I can allow myself to be proud of. This – you destroying the Gamemakers' pet – _was_ impressive. You can tell your mentor I said that when you get home. I bet he'll agree with me."

I said nothing, focusing instead on the most space-efficient way to package the food and water left on the feast table.

_When you get home._

We gorged ourselves on food and water before starting back to our tent and other supplies. I had two packs heavy with water on my chest, and Memorie had one of food on her back, gingerly threaded over her splinted arm despite my protests. How long we'd be able to keep all the excess stuff, I didn't know, but at least we'd eat well tonight.

The journey seemed shorter in this direction, odd since I was walking instead of jogging. Memorie and I talked as I walked, or rather, she talked and I nodded and made the occasional sound of affirmation. It wasn't at all like what I'd done with Chenille in the Capitol what felt like years ago; I was engaged in the conversation, but didn't have anything to add. Memorie told me about District Three: the factories, the people she knew, the children. Her voice was light with joyful reminiscence.

I could have told her about my life in Two. About living at the community home until I was five and Varius de Luca, then fresh from his own victory, had seen something in my eyes that made him decide to mentor me. About the years of training that had followed, first in classes with others training for the Games, then, when I turned twelve, by myself with Varius. And about the Tribute Trials, when I'd defeated every other girl my age, earning myself the honor of representing my district in the first ever Quarter Quell.

I didn't think she'd enjoy hearing how I'd trained all my life for the Games she detested. It wasn't just the Games, either; I was starting to hear hints of something bigger and more dangerous in her bitter tone and comments about the Capitol and the Gamemakers. I hoped she'd have the sense not to talk like that outside the arena.

And then I saw our packs in the sand and dropped my burdens with a sigh of relief. "Home sweet home," I joked, my tone lighter than my thoughts.

Memorie chuckled, but sobered at once. "Can we start after Glint tonight?" she asked. We'd carefully noted his location – northeast – back at the Cornucopia, and had been gratified to learn that we'd gone in the right direction the day before.

"If you're up to it," I answered. "How is your arm? Does your leg hurt any more than usual?"

"I'm fine, Neera," she said. I felt like I'd been hearing those carefully consoling words a lot recently. I'd feel better if I thought she was telling me the truth, not what she thought I wanted to hear.

I nodded, though. "All right, if you're sure. Let's eat and drink some more, then ditch the extra and use the rest of this daylight."

In the end, we were forced to abandon two gallons of water and some of the larger packages of preserved food. Memorie took the lightest pack – she offered to take one of the ones filled with water, but I put her off by saying the added weight on my back made it harder to walk – and I kept the other three. I was inclined to leave the tent, easily the most unwieldy burden, but thought it would be a shame if we died of exposure now that we'd made it to the final eight. Final seven, really.

My legs and shoulders were beyond the point of soreness. It was like the muscles had realized I was ignoring all the signals they sent my way and had fallen into sullen silence. The wound on my collarbone was healing as well as could be expected with multiple straps chafing against the bandage. But I'd finally, for the first time in a week, gotten to drink all the water I wanted, and I could already feel the good it was doing my body.

We made good time, covering what I estimated to be around six miles in the short time before dusk. The desert to the north of the Cornucopia was dotted with sagebrush, some of which I had to circle because of its immense proportions.

When I began to stumble over plants in the half-darkness, Memorie suggested we stop and set up the tent. I obliged happily, stretching my arms above my head in a motion that felt particularly luxurious after being burdened with multiple backpacks all day.

"Do you think your district partner is going to come looking for you?" Memorie asked once I'd finished setting up the tent.

I passed her a jug of water and several plastic-wrapped packets of food. "Quintus? Maybe. Why do you ask?"

"I just thought he might know that the boy and girl from District Four are dead," she replied. "You said you were the biggest threat to him, so maybe he'll attack you now to get it over with. Or," she said, frowning in thought, "maybe he'll try to restore your alliance now that the others are gone."

"Doubtful," I said after a moment's consideration. "The second part, I mean; he could come after me at any point, now. I don't think he'll consider being allies, though – he probably thinks I'm every bit as crazy as Glint. I haven't exactly been acting normal."

"Because you're with me, you mean?" Her voice was quiet.

"Because I abandoned them during the bloodbath, because I chose you as an ally, because I haven't killed you even though we're running low on competition…take your pick."

"_Ally?_" she sounded incredulous. "I hardly think-"

I cut her off. "Yes, we're allies. You figured out the arena, you told me about the shopping list…lots of stuff. I'm the brawn, you're the brains." She laughed at that, but I noticed that she still seemed lost in thought as she returned to her meal.

The anthem interrupted our silence. It wasn't quite dark, so I guessed we were still slightly west of center. Mari was displayed in the sky, her face smiling and her hair perfect. Then came Atlas. He looked like a child – he had acted like a child, too, I recalled fondly – and my eyes stung. I blinked to keep from crying. One of the first things Varius had taught me was that I must never, under any circumstances, cry in the arena. It would make me look weak in the eyes of my sponsors and was simply unsuitable behavior for any tribute from District Two.

When the music faded, I crawled into the tent and wrapped myself in a blanket. I stared blankly at the canvas ceiling, invisible in the darkness, and barely noticed when Memorie came in, crawling over my body to get to her spot against the back wall.

"Neera?" she whispered.

I considered rebuking her for talking in the tent, but instead said, "Yeah?"

"Those kids from Four…the Capitol will be able to send them home to their families now. You know, because you killed the worm. Otherwise there wouldn't have been bodies left."

"That's good," I said. I fell asleep a few minutes later, lulled by the sound of Memorie's quiet breathing.


	14. Damaged

The morning was still clear and cool when we set off toward the east again, chewing some dried beef as we went. The sagebrush thinned as we progressed, to my relief. I'd begun to feel like I was covering as much lateral distance from skirting shrubs as distance toward Glint.

"It's better than all those cacti to the south," Memorie said when I expressed that sentiment to her. "At least these bushes just scratch you a little."

I huffed a little sigh, wishing she'd stop looking on the bright side for once. I was tense, my body preparing for the upcoming fight, and trying to rein in the excess energy made me short-tempered. The sooner we reached Glint, the happier I'd be.

When I thought we had to be getting close, I removed the spear I'd salvaged from its place across my shoulders, gripping it in my left hand and the sword in my right. I had to force myself not to clench my hands around the weapons too tightly. I wasn't nervous. It was just…Memorie looked so much like Chenille, and Glint was insane.

And we found him. Glint. I honestly hadn't thought we would, after so much futile tracking.

He sat on the sand, his back to us, golden hair shining in the sunlight. Apparently he sensed that he wasn't alone, because he got to his feet in one graceful motion, obviously strengthened by the near-invisible body armor he wore. He stared at us, seeming unsurprised.

I lowered Memorie to the ground, quickly followed by our many packs. "Got that knife?" I asked, too softly for Glint to hear. She nodded, eyes wide.

I took a step toward him, readying my spear to throw. That was a mistake, as it turned out.

"Chenille?" Glint's voice was unrecognizable. His cool, courteous tones had been replaced with something hunted and rough. Eyes fixed on Memorie, who he'd first glimpsed when I moved forward, he stretched out a hand.

Even with my back to her, I felt her flinch. "Hey," I called, my own voice harsher than usual. "This isn't Chenille. What's wrong with you, One?"

He growled at me, looking utterly inhuman as his lips drew back from his teeth. "You killed her!" he raged, hands curving into claws. I saw the force field shimmer around him as he moved, reminding me I'd have to target the chinks in his armor to do any damage.

He moved closer and I gripped the spear tighter, deciding against throwing it. It would be to easy to miss the tiny, ever-shifting gaps in the armor from this distance. I'd have to engage him directly. I walked toward him, ignoring Memorie's sharp hiss of disapproval. I didn't want Glint getting any closer to her than he already had.

"I haven't even seen Chenille since the first day of the Games," I replied, no longer needing to speak loudly. Only a few yards separated us, and I wondered for a moment if he planned to attack me barehanded. Then he reached over his shoulder, and when his hand reappeared, it held a silver battle-axe half as long as my spear.

_Well, crap._

I leaped forward, aiming for his neck with my spear and leaving the sword angled protectively across my body.

Faster than I'd thought possible, he batted the spear away with his arm, simultaneously bearing down toward my skull with the axe. _Right, the armor. It'll make him stronger, not just harder to hurt._

Glint caught sight of Memorie again, and tried to walk around me to get to her, seeming to forget about my weapons entirely. I planted a foot in his stomach, sending him reeling backward in spite of his armor. That made him remember me.

I feinted toward his neck with the spear a second time, took advantage of his distraction with parrying by stabbing down with my sword. The point slid into the invisible gap where the suit's boot met the force field over his leg, opening a red line on his lower shin.

He didn't react. I was reminded of the worm mutt, which hadn't seemed to feel pain either. If Glint was that far gone, his madness might help him in this fight, making him fearless. Just my luck.

Glint lunged, raising his axe over his head with both hands and bringing it whistling down with enough force to cut me in half. Throwing myself to the ground on his left, I almost laughed to hear the blade _thunk_ into the sand. He growled a curse and wrenched the axe free, but not before I slid the point of my spear into the shoulder joint of his armor, leaving another spreading patch of blood.

Still no visible reaction to the pain. We circled each other, keeping a wary distance. I noticed we'd edged closer to Memorie and immediately imposed my body between hers and Glint's. Unfortunately, that allowed Glint to face her, and he screamed something that might have been his dead partner's name, hurling himself bodily at me and sending us crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

When he tried to crawl over me to reach Memorie, I braced both my arms against his chest and shoved, straining to push him back without leverage in my favor. All our weapons were pinned between us; I could feel the haft of my spear and the handle of his axe digging into my ribs. After several breathless moments, I widened the gap enough to bring my knee up to my stomach and send Glint careening backwards with all the muscles in my thigh.

Scrambling to my feet, I grabbed his axe in both hands and flung it as far into the desert as I could. Then I extracted my weapons from the sand – just in time, too, since my enemy was on his feet. He charged me with an incoherent yell, not seeming to care that his axe had disappeared.

I drove my spear toward his chest, using it as a diversion for my true target, the joint between his thigh and torso shields. My sword struck home, and I knew that I'd severed a major artery from the quantity of thick, hot blood running from the wound.

The spear was yanked from my hands in my moment of exultation. Glint snapped the wood between his hands, and I retreated hastily, covering myself with the sword. Before I could regroup, Glint charged, one half of my spear in each hand.

I managed to dodge one, but the other, the one with the metal point attached, sketched a line of searing pain across my stomach.

I gasped in shock and pain, barely getting out of the way of a second attack.

Pressing my empty hand to my abdomen, I encountered wetness. When I drew the hand way, it was smeared with blood.

It didn't matter, though. I had to make it not matter for a few more minutes, the time it would take Glint to die of blood loss. And so we circled again, slower now because we were both hurt. When I was facing Memorie, I glimpsed her stricken expression and flashed her a reassuring smile.

Glint leapt toward me again and I danced away, stifling a cry of agony as more of my skin split with the movement, widening the wound across my stomach. I felt a little dizzy, but still had the presence of mind to stagger away from Glint, not toward him.

He wasn't too steady on his feet either, I noticed. As if in response to my thought, he dropped to his knees and didn't try to get back up. Blood was soaking into the sand around his knees, and I knew I'd won.

I kept my feet while he died, refusing to bend my pride enough to let him see me weaken. After a small eternity, he collapsed forward onto the ground. I braced myself with my sword, waiting.

His cannon fired, and I dropped to the ground like it had been a gunshot.

Memorie was at my side faster than I would have thought possible. She carried the first aid kit, and I felt myself shaking my head. I knew what I needed for this wound, and it wasn't in the basic kit we'd found.

Still, it was good thinking on Memorie's part that she removed what bandages we had left and placed them against my stomach, applying pressure to slow the bleeding. I hissed in pain and she looked like she was panicking.

"Hey," I said, secretly alarmed at how faint my voice sounded. "It's okay, just keep those there. This is going to need stitches, but I don't think we have needle and thread." I _knew_ we didn't.

She bit her bottom lip so hard it started to bleed.

"Get the armor," I reminded her, and she turned to Glint's corpse as if happy to look away from me. In a few minutes, she returned, holding an armful of what resembled thick silver bracelets.

And then the most wonderful thing happened. I hadn't even considered it a possibility since these Games began and I strayed so dramatically from my original plan.

A silver parachute floated down from the painfully bright sky, coming to rest lightly on my legs. Memorie gasped, snatching it up instantly. I watched as she opened the container it carried and withdrew something small. A needle and thread, medical grade. And with them, a slip of white paper. I accepted both with trembling hands.

"_Don't die now, idiot girl,"_ I read, then had to choke back the laugh that wanted to bubble out because I knew it wouldn't help the gash in my stomach. My mentor, my wonderful, perfect mentor had done the impossible. He had gotten me enough sponsors – in spite of the collection of stupid things I'd done in the last week – to send me this incredibly expensive gift.

"Thank you, Varius," I breathed, hoping some camera somewhere had recorded my words and sent them to the Capitol viewing room where my mentor sat.

"What are you supposed to do with that?" Memorie asked indignantly, bringing me back to earth. "Just…just sew yourself shut? Right here, in the middle of this desert?" I wasn't sure if I was imagining things, but I could've sworn there was a tiny pause before the word _desert_ into which she'd wanted to insert some awful profanity.

"Unless you see a medical center around here, yes," I replied, bemused. I propped myself up on my elbows, painfully gathering the fabric of my shirt over my ribs so the wound would be accessible. I tore the sterile packet of thread open with my teeth, forcing my hands still so I could thread the needle. Beside me, Memorie made a soft sound of protest.

"This is barbaric," she said, her voice barely audible.

"You don't have to watch," I informed her acerbically. After all, I was the one giving myself stitches; I wasn't in the mood to coddle her.

"No, it's not that," she replied hurriedly. "I'll watch. I can even do it, if you want. I don't have experience, though, and I'm guessing you do." It was a question, despite her lack of inflection.

"Yeah, we covered emergency medical procedure a couple times," I said wryly, not really caring if the Capitol was being forced to censor our words alluding to illegal preparation for the Games. "Why does it bother you, if not because of the blood or the needle?" I was talking to distract myself from the pain I was about to inflict with needle and thread.

"Them!" she hissed. "How _dare_ they send someone like you into the arena and take bets on whether or not you'll win? And when you get hurt providing their sick entertainment, they make you fix yourself so you can keep being amusing for a few more days!" Her face was flushed with anger, and her voice rose as she spoke, so that she was almost shouting her last words.

Shit shit shit. No way in hell that was being broadcast to the districts.

"Shut up!" I ordered. "You can't just say stuff like that and expect there not to be consequences! Do you _want_ to be an Avox?"

The fire in her eyes dimmed infinitesimally, but her tone was still sharp enough to cut diamonds when she spoke again. "I'm not going to make it out of here alive. I have no family for them to punish. I want to say what I mean for once."

"Please, Memorie?" I whispered, begging because I couldn't say what I wanted to, couldn't give her the logical argument. "For me, don't talk like that, now or ever."

"Fine!" She sat back in silence, but didn't look happy about it.

I had already finished one excruciating stitch – I estimated the thing would need about twenty all told – when another parachute floated to land softly on my lap. I merely frowned, ready to go on stitching, but Memorie leaned forward and took it.

She gasped, and I jerked my head up, though it was ridiculous to think whatever Varius had sent me would have injured her. And she was smiling, so that definitely wasn't the problem. Wordlessly, she passed me the contents of the container. Two perfect tears slipped down her cheeks, but her smile never wavered.

The gift was small, a tube of topical pain medication. _Why would Varius send this? _I wondered. He knew I could tend my own wounds without a numbing agent; he was the one who'd taught me to do it. The fluttering slip of paper caught my attention. I smoothed it across my thigh and read the tiny letters.

"_Send her home to us,"_ it said.

"This is from your mentor," I told Memorie, confused. "If he had money from sponsors, why spend it on something to help me instead of you?"

"Helping you is the best way to help me," she replied. "I would have died during the bloodbath if not for you. Now, I'm in the final eight. What does the note say? I didn't read it."

"Uh…" I passed it to her and watched her contort her face in confusion. Then comprehension dawned.

"He thinks you'll let me win? He really must be drunk! Honestly, I'm surprised he poured himself out of bed long enough to even _talk_ to sponsors." She must've realized how cruel that sounded, because she clapped a hand to her mouth in horror. "I didn't mean that," she went on, more calmly this time. "I just – why ask for the impossible." It wasn't a question. "It's not fair to you," she finished.

I said nothing to her, but tilted my head skyward and said "Thank you," again before bending to my task, this time made easier by the clear gel I had to spread over the edges of the wound.

I had to rush through the last few stitches because the light was fading. How far east had we come, I wondered, that we'd lost so many daylight hours? Surely my fight with Glint hadn't lasted that long.

"We should head back to the center of the arena," I said, setting the needle down at last. "It'll get really cold here tonight. Besides, if everyone thinks that mutt is still alive, they won't risk going to the Cornucopia even to look at the shopping list." I could see that Memorie wanted to argue, probably planning to make her case about the injury I'd sustained. I forestalled that line of thinking by getting to my feet and stretching carefully, testing how much the stitches could take.

"See? Good to go," I announced, slinging the backpacks on – to my back, for a change – before Memorie could think of a new argument.

She shook her head and muttered something I'm glad I couldn't hear, but bent to fasten the silver bracelets – which, she'd explained, were the contact points for the body armor we'd come all this way for – around her legs, then her arms. I noticed she didn't fasten one around her right knee, though that left her with an extra. _That must be how she uses it to help her walk,_ I realized. She didn't bother putting one around her left elbow either. The armor would provide a more effective splint for her broken arm than my hasty bandage job had done.

And then she stood. I stared a little at the novelty of it, her moving without my aid. She took a cautious step forward, and then another, less careful one.

"This is fantastic!" she laughed, walking to my side. It made me remember how short she was. "So much better than what I was using at home!" She grinned, blinding me. "Now you don't have to carry me!"

I'd never seen her so happy.

Her good spirits continued as we walked toward the Cornucopia, slowed only slightly by her handicap. It got lighter as we walked, an odd sensation since I knew it was dusk, not dawn. I was glad for the sun, though, because I wasn't sure how good Memorie would be at navigating around obstacles in the dark. I imagined tripping and falling on her broken arm wouldn't feel good. Fortunately, we reached the horn before full dark, so I didn't have to find out.

The body of the worm mutt had been removed, I noticed.

This time, Memorie helped me set up the tent. It was strange working _with_ her instead of _around_ her. She moved oddly, like half a puppet, and I felt another twinge of guilt for breaking her arm. It was something the Capitol could fix easily, at least.

As I watched in fascination, Memorie transferred our blankets from the pack to the tent and brought me a jug of water. She was almost a different person when she wasn't dependent on me for everything. Memorie slid to the ground beside me, and I handed the water back to her.

"Thanks," she said, and her eyes told me she didn't just mean for the water. I nodded in acknowledgement and broke eye contact before she could pursue the issue.

I was saved by the bell, or rather, the anthem. Only one tribute appeared in the sky tonight: Glint, looking polished and confident as he hadn't since Chenille died. To my left, Memorie gave a small sigh, of relief, I suspected. "That's one tribute I'm not going to miss," she said, but her voice was hollow.

_Eighteen down, five to go,_ I thought. "So, who does that leave?" I asked aloud, craning to look up at the list above the Cornucopia. "Quintus and one each from Five, Seven and Nine." At the moment, all four were scattered across the western half of the arena, the daylight side.

"They'll have to move this way in the morning when the second sun rises," Memorie said, continuing my train of thought. "Maybe we can head them off before they leave the temperate zone."

"Maybe," I echoed dubiously. "That's still a pretty big slice of the arena for us to cover, especially since the others will be avoiding the Cornucopia on purpose."

"Well, let me know when you come up with a better idea," Memorie snapped, suddenly sounding frustrated. "I'm going to bed." And she did, retreating into our tent with something less than her usual awkwardness of movement.

I frowned at the tent flap for a few minutes before following. Inside, she was facing the canvas wall, her back to me. I couldn't tell if she was asleep or not, so I arranged my own blankets as quietly as possible and lay down facing the entrance.

I must've drifted off, because I woke, for the second night in a row, to the sound of Memorie's frantic screams. My automatic reaction was to grab my sword and flick our flashlight on, scanning for danger. I found none. Rolling over, I shook Memorie awake. When she opened her eyes, she looked briefly disoriented, but tried to calm her rapid breathing when she realized where she was.

She opened her mouth to say something – probably an apology for waking me – but I shook my head and pulled her close, trying to convey reassurance. "What was it this time?" I asked.

"Glint again," she replied, voice hoarse from screaming. "I know he's gone, but…"

"I'm sorry," I said, patting her back helplessly. I couldn't offer her protection from ghosts and nightmares.

She just shook her head. I switched off the light, and she nestled against my side, trying to get comfortable. "This isn't quite the same with armor on," she said a moment later, still squirming restlessly. "Good for battle; not so good for cuddling. Who knew?"

I withdrew at once, removing my hand from her back as though burned. "We aren't _cuddling_." I was annoyed. "I'm just trying to make you be quiet so I can get some rest." She had the audacity to laugh. I crossed my arms over my chest, wincing as the motion pulled on my stitches, and went back to sleep.


	15. Unspoken

We both woke up when a gigantic gust of hot wind blew the tent over. Blinking, I squinted at the sky, which was a weird yellowish brown. Then another blast of wind hit us, this time bearing particles of gritty sand that stung my eyes.

"Sandstorm!" I announced, comprehension dawning, followed by fear. I'd seen something like this in the ninth Hunger Games. It had been deadly.

"What should we do?" Memorie asked, and I could tell she was struggling to stay calm.

"We need shelter," I replied. Then I laughed aloud.

"What?" Memorie asked again, looking worried. She probably thought I was going to be the second crazy Career she'd have to avoid.

"The odds are in our favor, for once," I said, still laughing. "Come on, help me carry our stuff to the Cornucopia. We can wait out the storm in there. It's the only real shelter in this whole arena!"

It took two trips, and the storm had gotten noticeably worse by when I followed Memorie into the golden horn for the second time, dragging the collapsed tent after me. I pulled it past the mouth of the Cornucopia, turning to wedge the flexible poles against the horn's curved sides. I stuffed blankets in the gaps that remained, and sat on the trailing edge of the canvas, so that the tent wouldn't blow away if caught by a stray gust of wind.

"Now what?" Memorie sat with her back against the side of the horn, reminding me of the day I'd killed District Ten.

"We stay here, wait out the storm," I replied. "We have enough food and water for three or four days, but there's no way the Gamemakers would allow it to last that long. Even if they get a few casualties out of it, the audience prefers to watch tributes kill each other. Besides, there aren't many of us left." Outside, the wind howled louder, and I could hear sand being tossed against the sides of the Cornucopia.

Memorie was shedding her armor, leaving only the parts bracing her nonfunctioning arm and leg. "Well, I'm going to try and get some more sleep," she said. "Let me know if anything happens."

"Will do." I saw her frown at my sarcasm, but really, what was going to happen? We had the luxury of boredom while the other tributes ran for their lives.

After fifteen minutes of listening to the sand hissing against the outside of the Cornucopia, I leaned against the golden wall too, permitting myself to drift into slumber.

When I opened my eyes, the storm sounded louder, if anything. Memorie was sitting in the middle of the hollow, sorting our food into piles. Meat, fruit, bread. Beside them, the water jugs were arranged in a precarious pyramid.

"Bored?" I asked, and she jumped, eyes flashing to my face.

"Just a little." She squinted at the blue canvas behind me, saying, "I can't tell how long we've been in here – the light is strange because of the storm. And nothing has happened, as far as I can tell."

I sighed. "There could be worm mutts having a party outside the Cornucopia and we wouldn't hear it over this wind."

"Talk to me," Memorie said unexpectedly after several minutes of silence.

"I was just talking to you!"

"No, I mean…I've told you about my life before the Games, but you haven't told me anything. I'm interested. What's it like to be a Career?"

I rifled through my memories, trying to come up with something from my past that wouldn't horrify her. "Hmm. Well, when I was sixteen, I went through a phase where I didn't want to volunteer for the Games. I was tired of training. I wanted to go shopping, go on dates, find hobbies that had nothing to do with weapons or survival."

"I can hardly imagine that," said Memorie. "What did your mentor say?"

"By that time, Varius and I had been working together for eleven years. He knew me. So he let me go – shopping, on dates, all of it." I paused, remembering how alien I'd felt among the people of my district, how lost without my daily training regimen. "I hated it before the week was out. I went back to the Training Center and practiced by myself, because of course I was too proud to admit to Varius that I was wrong and he was right."

"Well, obviously you wouldn't like it after a week!" Memorie interjected. "Most people have their entire lives to make friends and find things they're good at. What did you do when you weren't training, anyway?"

This was one of the things that would upset her, I suspected. "I trained between eight and twelve hours a day, depending on Varius' schedule and what kind of classes he was teaching."

I had braced myself for a horrified reaction, and was glad when she restrained herself. "Oh, so training replaced school or work for those in preparation for the Games," she deduced. I nodded, but I didn't know how things were done in other districts. She could have been right. "But…you know some things," she said. "I mean, you know how to read and things like that. Where did you learn, if not at school?"

"I was a…an oddity, even among the children who were training. Some are enrolled by their families, who get tesserae in return for their kids. Some children choose to join the program on their own when they turn twelve. I…Varius chose me as his protégé when he got back from his Games. He taught me everything I know – academics, survival skills, weapons training, all of it."

I hoped the Gamemakers hadn't been wily enough to rig the inside of the Cornucopia with cameras, because I was implicating a number of people from my district in criminal activities. I thought we were safe, though. What were the odds of tributes hiding _in_ the Cornucopia? I'd never seen it before.

"So you meant what you said in your interview," Memorie said. "Varius really did raise you."

"Something like that. He's always had a fascination with the Games. He's the only tribute who's ever received a twelve in training. He has no wife or children, and I have no family, so we were perfect for each other." It was truer than I'd realized in the Capitol, during my interview with Tesla. I'd lived in Varius' spare bedroom since he'd taken me from the community home. I'd grown up drinking his protein shakes. He'd taught me to read over the dinner table after days at the Training Center.

"That's why I can't even imagine what it's like for you," I explained, "not knowing your mentor until you were chosen as tribute. How is he supposed to guide you in the arena if he knows nothing about you?"

Memorie looked at her hands. "He knew that I couldn't walk. What more did he need to find out? He is the way he is – drunk – because he's had to watch pair after pair of kids from his district go to the arena and die. I think he tried at first, but there was no hope for me. I don't blame him at all."

_You're wrong,_ I wanted to say. But she wasn't. Any year but this one, there wouldn't have been a chance of her leaving the arena alive.

We lapsed into silence. After a while, I fell asleep again, for lack of anything better to do.

I was becoming used to waking up to the sound of Memorie's screams, so when it happened again, I didn't respond as quickly as I should have. It took the ringing sound of metal against metal to rouse me fully. Then, I leapt to my feet, barely remembering to crouch to avoid hitting my head.

Memorie was on her back at my feet, and between us, with a knife through its head, was a snake. I dropped to my knees.

"Memorie," I gasped, placing fingers to her neck to check for a pulse. She saved me the trouble by opening her eyes.

"It bit me," she whispered. "Here." And she held up her arm, the one I'd broken. Blood trickled from two puncture marks in the fleshy part of her hand.

I scrabbled for my sword. The _one_ _time_ I needed it desperately, and it wasn't in my hand by reflex. Finally, my fingers closed around the hilt, and I wielded it delicately, making a shallow gash on Memorie's palm, cutting the bite marks out of her skin. I removed the belt from my arena uniform and cinched it around Memorie's bicep, remembering to remove the silver cuffs at her wrist and shoulder first.

She moaned twice, once when I cut her hand and once when I tightened the belt, so I knew she was still alive. I pressed my lips to the wound on her hand and sucked, drawing blood – and, I prayed, snake venom – into my mouth.

I spat the blood onto the floor of the horn and repeated the gesture. Operating on the assumption that the snake was a mutt, a construct of the Gamekeepers, I thought it was likely to be poisonous. I was lucky it had bitten her, not me, especially since I'd been closer to the mouth of the Cornucopia.

I didn't feel lucky.

Heart pounding, I sucked and spat until I was dizzy. I paused to confirm that Memorie was alive and then resumed the process. After a few minutes, I had to stop, afraid I'd kill her by taking too much blood when she was already weak.

Memorie had fallen unconscious. I wished there was some chance of a sponsor gift, an antivenin or something that would let me help her. Even if our mentors miraculously had money left, no parachute was going to make it through the sandstorm and the metal horn and into my hands.

Knowing I could no nothing for Memorie but wait was awful, gnawing at my gut until I wished my stitches would break as a distraction from the agony of helplessness. And when Memorie woke up, it was even worse. It became immediately apparent that whatever else the snake's venom was supposed to do, it could induce intense fear.

Memorie came back to consciousness screaming. I pulled her head and shoulders into my lap and spoke to her softly, and the screams faded to whimpers. She stared up at me, eyes glistening with unshed tears, the occasional moan of terror escaping her lips whenever I fell silent.

I hated the sounds of her fear, so I talked. Babbled, really, about anything and everything that came to mind. "I'm so proud of you for killing that snake," was one of the first things I said. "I was right to give you the knife. With aim and reflexes like that, you would've made a wonderful Career. Oh, no, you don't want that, I forgot." That was one of the times I stopped talking and was only goaded into starting again by Memorie's whimpers.

Outside, the wind continued to howl. I was afraid my makeshift wall would blow over without me there to support it, so I lifted Memorie and gently carried her to my original place next to the upended tent.

The motion must have jostled Memorie closer to consciousness, because when I sat down, she looked up and said my name like a question. I wasn't sure if my presence would frighten or comfort her in her current state, but I nodded anyway.

"Neera. Why didn't you let me die of the snake bite?" she asked, so quietly I had to guess at most of the words.

"Reflex," I replied, which was half-true. "My survival training kicked in before I remembered that your death was advantageous to me."

She smirked up at me. "That's a big word for someone who never went to school," she teased, and I smiled back, realizing that she was through the worst of the venom's effects. She would live.

As though the Gamemakers were mocking me for the hopeful thought, Memorie clapped her hands to her eyes and screamed.

"What?" I asked, grabbing her shoulders in panic. "Are you hurt?"

"Nightmares," she gasped, her voice weak. "All of a sudden, everything started looking like something from one of my worst dreams. I thought you were Glint." She was shaking again, and I smoothed my hands up and down her arms, feeling helpless.

"Mmm, that's better," she said a moment later, sounding calmer than before. "The venom must affect my sight, but not my other senses, because I'm fine as long as I don't try to look at you. You still feel and sound like you, not Glint."

"Okay," I replied, trying without success to quell my adrenaline as quickly as she had done. "I can work with that. I'm going to blindfold you, all right?" She nodded, and I tore a strip of fabric from the bottom of my shirt, careful not to jostle Memorie too much as I did so. I secured the makeshift blindfold across her eyes, making sure to pull her long blonde hair free of the cloth before tying it tight. "Tell me when you want to try taking it off," I said. "No hurry, though. It's not like we can go anywhere yet."

"Thank you." Memorie's smile looked odd with the pale fabric covering her eyes, but I guessed from her tone that it was heartfelt.

I shifted uncomfortably. "Anytime," I said. "I hate listening to you scream."

For some reason, she laughed, reaching up to give my hand a brief squeeze. "Hey, can I sit up?" she asked. "This angle is starting to hurt my neck."

"Of course," I responded, levering her into a sitting position. I placed her between my knees, pulling her back to lean against my chest. "Is that better?"

"Much," she sighed, falling silent.

I trailed my fingers absently through her hair, admiring its beauty even after more than a week in the arena. It was wavy, just short of forming curls, and fell to the middle of her back. Because I was bored, I slid away from her and began to work her hair into a complicated French braid, the style I'd favored before hitting on the woven coronet I wore now. When I reached the end of the braid, I secured it with another section of fabric from my shirt. At this rate, I'd be naked by the end of these Games.

"This seems odd," Memorie said a few minutes later, running the fingers of her uninjured hand down the newly styled coils of her hair.

"What does?" I asked.

"The Gamemakers using all these tricks against us. A storm and a poisonous mutt in the same day? That's not normal, is it? You're supposed to be the expert here!"

I was strangely glad she didn't know exactly how much of an expert I was. Varius had made sure I watched, rewatched and analyzed every detail of all the Games, even the ones from before I was born. It hadn't affected me before, but seeing all those years of Capitol-orchestrated deaths through Memorie's eyes made them seem somehow worse.

Despite my supposed expertise, she figured it out before I did.

"They can't stand the idea of having a cripple win their precious Games, can they? They're going to send storms and mutts and who knows what else until you decide to kill me yourself to put an end to it."

_Damn_. She was probably right. Even having her reach the final eight wouldn't reflect well on the Gamemakers, and they certainly couldn't allow her to continue to outlive tributes like Leah and Glint.

"They'll have to wait a long time," I said. "I'm not going to kill you because they put a little pressure on me."

She flashed me a lopsided smile. "We don't have a long time."

"True," I said. "So after this storm dies down, we need to get out there right away and give the audience some action. Let's go after Quintus."

"Assuming he's not already dead," Memorie added, but I shook my head.

"He's not dead. Trust me." Allison wasn't Varius de Luca, but no trainee of hers would be killed by a mere sandstorm. And I seriously doubted the Gamemakers had sent any poisonous mutts in his direction, since the whole Capitol was probably waiting avidly for the inevitable moment when Quintus and I were forced to fight each other. I smirked, wondering how many were placing bets on the outcome of that confrontation.

"You know him best," Memorie conceded with a shrug. She leaned against me again, and I bit back a growl of pain as she brushed the stitches above my hip. They weren't healing as quickly as I'd like, likely a combination of my poor sewing, dehydration and improper sterilization of the wound. These Games had to be nearing their conclusion, so I wasn't worried about being incapacitated by infection before the end. Still, I didn't want Memorie to worry.

We both lapsed back into sleep. I'm not sure how long I was out, but when I woke up, it was silent. "Memorie, the storm's over," I murmured, prodding her shoulder. I wouldn't have bothered waking her, but she was sprawled across my legs and torso, preventing me from moving so much as an inch, and I needed to check the shopping list to see who was left after the day's sandy scourge.

She muttered something I couldn't make out, nestling into the crook of my neck. I sighed, loosening her blindfold.

"Wake up!" I said, louder this time. Her green eyes opened a crack, and she blinked a few times, getting her bearings.

"Everything looks normal now," she commented, reaching up to rub her eyes with the back of her hand. "Hey, the wind's died down! We need to go check the list."

"I'm working on it," I said patiently. "I can't move if you're sitting on me, though."

"Right," she said, flushing faintly. She scooted awkwardly toward the side of the Cornucopia, and I got to my knees, yanking our tent from the mouth of the horn. The daylight wasn't blinding like I'd expected, indicating that it was approaching dusk. I crawled over the miniature sand dune that had accumulated on the other side of my makeshift wall and into the sun.

Memorie tried to follow me, but I shook an admonishing finger at her and said, "Put your armor on first." She rolled her eyes, but retreated into the horn under the force of my glare. "And get your knife!" I called after her.

Only then did I turn my attention to the red-lettered board above the Cornucopia. Quintus, as I'd expected, had survived the storm. There were only four names on the board instead of six, though, so two other tributes had died. The boy from Seven and the girl from Five, if I recalled correctly. That would just leave the boy from Nine. And Quintus, of course.

_Twenty down, three to go. _I silently prayed for the mental fortitude to make sure it was the right three.

Memorie rejoined me a moment later, the silver of her armor's bracelets sparkling in the light. "Poor District Nine," she said, looking up at the list with a hand on her forehead to shade her eyes. "I hope he doesn't know he's caught between you and Quintus." Neither of us said anything about how she'd be in the same position after Nine was killed.

"He'll know by tonight," I reminded her, and she sighed.

"Can you go after him before Quintus?" she asked. I turned so fast that I got a crick in my neck.

"You _want _me to kill him?" I surreptitiously inspected her face for signs that the snake's venom had done lasting damage to her brain.

"At least you'll make it as quick and painless as possible," she replied.

"So would Quintus," I told her, surprised at the form her trust in me had taken. "He's not insane like Glint, Memorie. He wouldn't torture someone."

She was shaking her head. "You can't know that," she said. "_I_ can't know that. People change when they get into the arena, whether or not they ever go fully insane. I'd feel better if you did it."

Still a little off-balance at the turn our conversation had taken, I nodded. "In the morning, okay? Nine is too far to the east for us to reach him before dark, and besides, Quintus is to the southwest, so it's not like he'll find him before we do."

"Okay," she agreed. "Should I start putting up the tent, then?"

The next half hour was occupied by a brief flurry of activity as we hauled the tent into the open and propped it up, ferrying our supplies out of the Cornucopia one pack at a time. I examined Memorie carefully for signs of injury or fatigue, but she seemed as glad as I was to be able to move around and stretch muscles sore from our sojourn in the Cornucopia.

She was watching me too, I discovered. Cutting off the hem of my shirt to use for her blindfold made it so the garment rode up when I lifted my arms, and I turned around from securing the peak of the tent canvas to its pole to find her eyes on my bare skin.

Or rather, I realized, on the dark line of stitches across my flesh. "Does that hurt?" she asked when she saw me looking. "I'll get you the tube of numbing gel."

"No," I said, stopping her. "I'm saving the gel for when I have to fight. That way, the pain won't distract me. It doesn't hurt unless I'm moving a lot, anyway," I lied.

She frowned at me, but didn't press the issue. Still, I noticed that she made a point of telling me to sit still while she brought me food and water from the tent. I thought she would've fed it to me by hand if she thought she could get away with it.

I hoped she wasn't starting to care for me. That would only make the end harder for both of us.

_There is only one victor._ I repeated the words in my head like a mantra as I chewed my food, and then as I sat back and waited for it to get dark enough for the anthem. But when the music played and the faces of the boy and girl who had died today appeared in the sky, I couldn't help looking at Memorie's wide green eyes and wishing it wasn't true.

By the time I crawled into the tent to sleep, I'd banished the sentimental thought from my mind. I couldn't afford to think like that, not when Quintus and the boy from Nine were still out there. _There won't be time to think after they're dead,_ a tiny voice whispered, but I stomped on it until it shut up and curled my body protectively around Memorie's, drifting off to sleep.


	16. Manipulated

It was gratifying not to wake up to the sound of screams.

At some point during the night, Memorie's head had ended up on my shoulder, and I took the opportunity to brush a few loose tendrils of hair out of her eyes before nudging her awake. "Ready to go looking for Nine?" I asked, making my voice as cheerful as I could manage under the circumstances.

She mumbled something I couldn't understand, and I reflected that she really wasn't much of a morning person. I crawled over her prone form and out into the sunshine. When I disassembled the tent around her, Memorie had no choice to wake up, blinking and looking around in confusion. I laughed at her betrayed expression.

"Hey, I tried to wake you up before I took the tent down, but you ignored me," I informed her. "You know, if you were a Career from my district, your mentor would've dumped a bucket of water on you if you didn't wake up on time."

"Well, it's a good thing you can't spare any of our water, then," she retorted, getting reluctantly to her feet. "Can we at least have breakfast before we start?"

"First let me check the list," I said. "I don't want either of the boys sneaking up on us because we didn't bother to find out if they'd moved during the night." As it turned out, the boy from Nine hadn't changed direction relative to the Cornucopia, but my district partner had.

"Quintus is due south of us now," I reported to Memorie, who was fishing the apricots from our one remaining bag of dried fruit and popping them in her mouth. "I'm willing to bet money he's planning to come check the list at some point today, whether or not he thinks the worm mutt is still alive. No way he wants to run around blind in the hope that he'll stumble across us or Nine. That's part of why I want us to get out of here as quickly as possible."

"We can eat more on the road, then," she said, tossing me a biscuit and the rest of the fruit. "Take this while I pack up the rest of our stuff." I munched in silence, observing Memorie with interest as she efficiently separated our blankets, water, and food into different packs. Only when she tried to shoulder to pack containing the water did I intervene.

"Nope, that one's mine," I announced, tugging it from her hand. "You can carry the food." I thought that was the lightest of the three backpacks, a suspicion that was confirmed when I helped Memorie ease it over her broken arm and adjust the shoulder straps until it fit comfortably.

I tossed the other two packs onto my back with a bit too much enthusiasm, though, and I felt a slight tearing sensation above my hip. When I glanced down surreptitiously, I saw that one of my stitches had ripped a little – not enough to free the skin it was holding shut – and was slowly oozing blood. I winced and hoped Memorie wouldn't see.

We started off to the east. I noted approvingly that Memorie was holding the knife in her good hand, looking ready to lash out at any threat. It still seemed unlikely that she'd use it against another person, but at least she'd be prepared if the Gamemakers sent any more snakes our way. That thought made me tighten my grip on the sword; if Memorie was correct, which she usually was, any nasty surprises this arena could produce would be bent on destroying her before she could manage the unthinkable and reach the final three.

I scratched the arm with the tracker as I walked; the injection site had stopped hurting after the first day, but there was an itch under the skin around the chip that made me wonder if I was having an allergic reaction to it. It wasn't life threatening, surely, so I buried the thought and focused on scanning the desert around us for enemies.

My caution increased the farther we walked. I knew we'd never been this far east before, so this section of the arena could hold any number of deadly creatures. I'd left the halves of my spear with Glint's corpse, so I really hoped we didn't encounter another giant worm. That was a fight I might not be able to handle with just my sword. I still had the bow and arrows I'd taken from the boy from Ten, but they'd be worse than useless against something that big.

When we weren't attacked by any of the Gamemakers' creations, I started to worry instead about the tribute we were hunting. "Do you remember what training score the Gamemakers gave Nine?" I asked Memorie.

"The boy? I think he might've gotten a five or a six."

It was ridiculous to worry about someone who I hadn't considered threatening enough to bother remembering when I was in the Capitol, but why would the Gamemakers be showing such restraint unless they thought Nine might be able to kill Memorie? "Well, I don't care if he got a twelve," I said. "He's not going to hurt us." I scratched the inside of my wrist again.

Memorie looked at me strangely, which made me more nervous, if anything. We walked in silence and I continued my mental analysis of the boy from District Nine. _Okay, assume he got a six just to be safe, _I instructed myself. _Does he have any weapons? Yes, a knife and a mace. Neither should be a problem, and once you kill him, you'll have another knife. _I realized that the knuckles of my sword hand were white because I was squeezing so hard, and I forced myself to loosen my grip and take a deep breath.

"Listen, Memorie," I said. "I have a bad feeling about this fight. You should stay here and wait, and I'll come back after I kill Nine."

Her eyes widened so much I thought they might pop out of her head. "Are you sure?" she asked quietly. She looked like she wanted to go on, but I spoke over her.

"Yes, I'm sure. Stay here with our stuff. I'll be back as soon as I can. If you're in danger, yell my name as loudly as you can and I'll come back." As I walked away, I looked over my shoulder to make sure Memorie still had the knife in her hand.

Alone and unencumbered, I moved into a fast run, deciding to take advantage of yesterday's respite. Now that Memorie was out of sight, my urge was to panic and race back to her. However, I'd determined that she was safer without me for the moment, and I wasn't going to contradict myself now. That would just be a waste of time.

Nausea began to creep over me as I ran, and my heart rate accelerated until I was forced to slow my pace. A few steps more, and I fell to my knees, vomiting my breakfast onto the sand. The sense of foreboding I'd had when I decided to leave Memorie had intensified, and I pushed myself back to my feet, sure I must be in immediate danger.

The desert landscape was barren as usual, though. No sign of life besides a few squat cacti. Still dizzy, I stumbled onward. Something was obviously wrong – maybe I had heatstroke? – but my goal was still clear. I needed to kill the boy from Nine.

I don't know how far I walked before I found him. My sense of time and direction was skewed by the dizziness, and I had to focus all my energy on moving forward, not counting steps or checking the angle of the sun.

Find him I did, though, at the bottom of a small hill, the first such landmark I'd seen in our arena. He was sitting with his back to me, and the sun on his hair made me think of Glint. Unlike Glint, the boy didn't sense my presence.

Fitting an arrow to my bowstring, I drew and aimed in a single moment. The arrow seemed to flow through syrup when I released it, and something about its sluggish flight made me gag for a second time. That caught the boy's attention, and he whirled to face me just as my arrow buried itself in the sand at his feet. How had I missed by so much? I hoped Varius wasn't watching right now.

Nine lifted a spiked mace from the ground and jogged toward me, perhaps thinking to narrow the distance before I could get another shot off with my bow. I dropped it in favor of a two-handed grip on the hilt of my sword. My heart was still beating too fast, but at least the world wasn't spinning.

When I swung at Nine, I barely remembered to limit my motion to avoid tearing my stitches. Even if I'd thought to bring the first aid kit with me, I doubted I was up to sewing the wound shut a second time when I was this sick.

The boy stepped back, adroitly dodging my blade. He was about my height, I judged, but not nearly as well muscled. He lashed out with his mace, the spiked ball whistling toward my head. I stared dumbly for a split second before thinking maybe I should get out of the way. I dropped to the sand – not entirely on purpose, I admitted to myself – and slashed wildly upward with my sword.

I knew I'd gotten lucky when the boy's intestines fell into my lap, followed by the rest of his body. My random swing had gutted him. The sound of his cannon echoed in my ears.

After deciding I had no use for the mace, I shoved the dead tribute from my legs and crawled away so the hovercraft could pick him up. His knife was placed conveniently on top of his pack, so I tucked it under my belt and sat down to conduct a more thorough search. The backpack, it turned out, contained only a blanket and a partially empty jug of water, so I left it. For what felt like the hundredth time, I clawed futilely at my arm, reminding myself to see if we had anything to stop the itch in our first aid kit once I got back to Memorie.

_Memorie!_ Impossibly, I'd completely forgotten about her.

I launched myself upright, hitting the ground at a run. The nausea and dizziness were back in force, but I shook them off and sped up. I'd told her to yell for me if anything happened, but I had no idea whether or not I was in hearing range. The way this day was going, I doubted it.

I knew when I was within hearing range.

I knew, because Memorie was screaming my name in a voice so hoarse it was obvious she'd been calling for some time. _Quintus!_ was my first thought, but no, that seemed unlikely. He'd been practically on the other side of the arena in the morning. _The Gamemakers, then. _

As ashamed as Varius would have been of my poor shot with the bow, my speed now would've more than made up for it. With the tiny part of my brain that wasn't battling my urge to vomit or screeching Memorie's name, I wished I had a stopwatch. The only thing that kept me going was the fact that Memorie's screams continued, so whatever was attacking her hadn't killed her yet.

I saw her attackers first, two tawny mountain lions whose coats were almost the color of the sand. Pulling the bow from my back, I ran faster. When I was within range, I skidded to a stop and aimed for the closer of the two mutts, blocking thoughts of my earlier miss from my mind.

My arrow took the mountain lion in the throat, and served the double purpose of getting the other one's attention. It spun away from Memorie, who was on her back in the sand. My eyes raked her body, searching frantically for any new sign of injury and finding none.

Then the surviving mutt was on me, leaping for my throat with teeth bared. I raised my sword and spun aside, opening a bloody slash in the lion's right shoulder. It let out a chilling growl and pounced again. This time, I just had time to position my sword before it collided with me, sending me heavily to the ground.

My head bounced off the packed sand with the force of my impact and black spots threatened to obscure my vision. Meanwhile, the lion was pinned against me by the sword, which had gone through its chest and out its back. It wasn't willing to admit defeat yet, though. It strained for my throat, and it was much stronger than me at this angle.

I released my sword, my hand darting for the knife in my belt. The blade came free painfully, and I thought I'd cut my side in my haste. It was worth the minor injury, though, because I brought up the hand with the knife and, with a backhanded chopping motion that send blood spraying across my face, severed the mutt's trachea and jugular. It went limp.

I trotted to Memorie's side and panted, "Did they hurt you?"

She shook her head, and I saw that there were tears on her cheeks. "I'm fine. I thought it killed you. All that blood…"

Reassured that she was unharmed, I gave in to my body's demands, and doubled over, coughing and retching. When I caught my breath, I said, "Well, it didn't. I haven't been feeling very good, though. I think," I swallowed, willing my heart to stop beating so hard, "I think I've been drugged."

Memorie scrambled over to me, grabbing my chin roughly enough that I was tempted to twist away. "How?" she asked. "How did they drug you? How do you know?"

"_I left you alone in the middle of the desert_," I hissed. "The safest place for you is with me, I _know_ that! So why the _hell_ did I run off convinced that some idiot from an outlying district posed such a huge threat that I had to abandon you?" I was shouting, but I couldn't make myself stop. I was furious with the Gamemakers, for whatever they'd done to me; and with myself, for allowing it to be done.

Memorie grabbed my hand and stretched my arm out so she could look the red marks where I'd been scratching. "The tracker!" she exclaimed. "It must be. That's the only way the Gamemakers could drug you and not me. Think about it. We eat the same food, drink the same water, breathe the same air. There must be some kind of intoxicant in the trackers that can be released from the control room whenever the Gamemakers feel like it."

"Why, though?" I asked, lowering myself into a reclining position with a sigh of relief. "If they can do that, why not just drug you. I thought it was you they wanted dead, not me."

"The drug's obviously not lethal," she replied, continuing to run her fingers over my arm as if touching the skin would give her answers. "They used it to manipulate you into leaving me alone and then sent in their mutts when they thought I was defenseless."

"Thank God for that armor," I said, reaching up to trace my finger along the silver bracelet around her left wrist. "Those things would've killed you before I could get here if you weren't wearing it." Guilt was thick in my voice.

"You can't seriously be blaming yourself?" Memorie's hand tightened around my arm. "It wasn't your fault! You had some kind of paranoia-inducing drug in your system, and you still managed to come back in time to save me! Besides, I wouldn't have needed saving if I hadn't dropped my knife when the first one jumped on me," she added in disgust.

"I don't care. I should never have left you. I ignored thirteen _years_ of training and-"

Memorie clapped a hand over my mouth, muffling the rest of my words. "You did exactly what you were trained to do," she said. "You took care of yourself. You killed your target. Or at least, I assume you did." I nodded, hoping she'd remove her hand. She didn't. "That was nerve-wracking, by the way," she told me. "Hearing that cannon and having no way of knowing it wasn't for you?"

I peeled her hand off the lower part of my face and gave her a smirk I thought would make Quintus proud. "Do you really have that little faith in me? I'm not going to get killed by a boy from Nine."

"Always so condescending, Neera," Memorie admonished, but she laughed, taking the sting out of her words. "What do we do now?" she asked, sobering.

"I want to sleep this off before I go after Quintus," I said. "We can camp here for the night. It'll get a little chilly, but it's nothing we haven't handled before." I tried to lever myself off the ground, but Memorie pushed me back down.

"You're bleeding," she said, her voice quietly dangerous. "You told me you hadn't been hurt."

"It's just a scratch! I got it when I pulled my knife on the cougar that knocked me over."

She gave me a reproving glance and went for the first aid kit. While she was taping my side, she caught sight of the stitch I'd ripped that morning, and shot me a look that could have curdled milk. "You obviously have no regard whatsoever for your own life. It's a miracle you've stayed alive this long! Now stop acting like an idiot, Neera. You can go home tomorrow! Just hold it together long enough to kill Quintus."

_Right,_ I thought. _One more day, that's all. I can do this._ "Let me guess," I said wryly. "Is this the part where you ask if I'm going to kill you tonight?"

As attempts to dissolve tension went, it was pretty weak. She played along, though, and said the words in a singsong voice. "Aren't you going to kill me now, Neera?"

"Maybe tomorrow," I replied. "I'm feeling a little tired right now." She laughed and flopped down beside me in the sand.

We stayed there, sometimes talking, sometimes just lying in silence and gazing at the cloudless sky, until it started to get dark. "I guess we should set up the tent," I said, reluctantly prying myself out of the sand and brushing my back off. I offered my hand to Memorie and she joined me, stretching luxuriously.

"What's the plan tomorrow?" Memorie asked, pulling the canvas tent from its storage bag.

I shook my head. "Not tonight, okay? We'll talk about it in the morning." She furrowed her brow at me, seeking clarification, but I pretended not to see. _There is only one victor. _The words were no longer comforting. I was running out of time.

Shortly after we sat down beside the tent to eat our meager dinner – it was a good thing everything would be over tomorrow, because we were getting low on food and water – the anthem began to play. I recognized the boy from Nine when his face lit up the night sky. Recalling the disgusting sensation of his body falling into my lap distracted me from my other, more pressing worries, at least.

I jumped when Memorie took my hand in hers. "Bedtime," she told me, leading me by the hand like a child. Inside the tent, she carefully arranged blankets over me and curled up by my side.

_How can she be so compassionate? _I wondered. _She's sure I'm going to kill her tomorrow, but she's still trying to take care of me._


	17. Checkmate

I started awake. To my relief, it was still dark outside, so I hadn't overslept. When I switched the flashlight on, I saw that Memorie was sleeping, still in the same position she'd lain down in last night. Placing a hand on her arm – the one I hadn't broken – I shook her gently. Surprisingly, she didn't object to being woken this time, just sat up and looked at me with that calm blue gaze.

"Good morning, Neera," she smiled. I passed her some food and water and cleared my throat so I could answer.

"Morning. So, here's the plan." I rummaged in the pack for my own breakfast as I spoke, finding it hard to meet Memorie's eyes. "We need to go back to the Cornucopia. If I know Quintus, he'll be there waiting for me. If not, at least the list will tell us where we can find him. Sound good?"

"Sounds perfect," Memorie replied, her voice so cheery that I looked at her before I could stop myself. She stared back, unblinking. "Before we leave, could you please braid my hair again? It's getting messy, and I want to look my best for the final battle."

Her tone was still too light, her words too bubbly. For a moment, I was worried. Did she know something I didn't? Or worse, did she know what I knew? No, if that were the case, surely she'd be angry or sad, not happy.

"Sure," I mumbled, moving to run my fingers through her hair. Slowly, I undid the old braid and worked out the tangles. Sand fell to the ground as I went, an unfortunate consequence of scrambling around a desert for ten days with no access to niceties like showers. When the golden waves were as tangle-free as I could make them, I began to twist them into the most complicated pattern I knew, working by feel more than by the dim glow of the flashlight.

Knowing I was out of time, I tied the scrap of my shirt into a knot at the end of Memorie's braid and got to my feet. "All done," I announced. "You repack our stuff while I take the tent down. And I hurried outside before she could reply, taking the flashlight with me.

I conducted a quick scan of the surrounding desert, but saw nothing besides sand and rocks. The Gamemakers' drug seemed to have worn off, but I still glanced around at regular intervals, determined that nothing was going to sneak up on me in the crucial last hours of these Games.

Sooner than I liked, we were ready to move out. I knew that one way or another, the Quell would be over in a few hours, so we could leave the tent and most of our other supplies behind, but I hated the sense of finality that would've given our departure. Better to pretend, for as long as I could, that this was going to end like any other day.

I shouldered the tent and the pack with our water and blankets. Memorie took the one with food and the first aid kit. We were down to two packs now, yet another indication that things were winding down whether we were ready or not.

"Do you have your knife?" I asked Memorie, turning the beam of the flashlight so that she had to shield her eyes from the sudden brightness.

"Yes, right here," she said, holding it up for me to see. "Do you have _your_ knife? And sword? And bow and arrows?" From the ill-concealed humor in her voice, I guessed this was some kind of personal joke to her.

"Check, check, and check," I replied. We started walking. "Remind me to put some numbing gel on my stitches when we get to the horn, okay?" I asked Memorie. There was no way I'd get through a fight with someone like Quintus without tearing my wound open, and I'd rather not have the pain distracting me if I could help it.

Memorie nodded. "It's at the top of the pack so you can get it in a hurry," she told me.

"Good thinking." I turned the flashlight in time to catch her smile.

The sky got steadily lighter as we walked, and I was glad I wouldn't have to confront my district partner in the dark. I had no doubt I was more than a match for Quintus, but I was tired and wounded, and fighting blind was a complication I didn't need. Besides, I had to make this look believable to the Capitol, the Gamemakers and Memorie, so my audience would need to see the final battle.

When the golden sparkle of the Cornucopia appeared on the horizon, Memorie closed the distance between us and wrapped her hand around my arm. I was tempted to admonish her for letting go of the knife, but there was no point. If I did my job, she'd never need it.

Although I'd told Memorie I expected Quintus to be waiting for us, seeing him leaning casually against the Cornucopia still sent a flood of adrenaline through my veins. He was tall and blond and handsome, and he was watching us approach with the same grin he'd given me a hundred times in the Capitol, when he'd thought we were going to be allies. When _I'd_ thought we were going to be allies.

"Long time no see, Salotti," he shouted. "Oh, and you brought your friend, too. Hi there, Three."

"Nice to see you too, Quintus," Memorie called back.

"Oh, she talks! Tell me, Three, why hasn't my partner killed you yet?"

We were close enough now that Memorie didn't have to raise her voice when she responded. "I'm smart, she's strong," she informed him. "Neera and I make a good team."

Quintus stopped smiling. "You're a Career, Salotti. Why did you scrap our alliance? Everything went to hell because you weren't around to keep One in line."

"Does it matter anymore, Tiziano?" I asked wearily. "That's all over now. It's just you and me. Are you ready to fight?"

"Yeah, let's end this," Quintus said, and there was something thick and ugly in his voice that made me think the arena had addled his brain – he wasn't like Glint, but he'd certainly changed in the past week and a half.

"Give me a minute to put my stuff down," I said, walking to the opposite side of the Cornucopia and sliding my packs to the ground. Memorie unzipped her pack and tossed me the gel, which I uncapped and squirted liberally onto the wound on my stomach. It's not like I needed to save any for later.

"Take my knife instead," Memorie urged, pressing the weapon into my hand as I moved toward the open sand where I intended to kill Quintus. "Here, I'll take yours, so it's not like I'll be helpless. Just take it, for good luck."

"Thank you," I said, though I didn't know why she was making such a big deal out of it. One knife was as good as another to me, so I shrugged off my confusion. "Memorie." I lowered my head and grasped her chin so she was forced to meet my gaze. "Whatever happens, promise me you'll stay out of the fight."

To my everlasting shock, she didn't argue. "I promise."

I turned and walked away, afraid I'd lose my nerve if I kept standing there and staring into her trusting eyes.

Quintus was waiting for me, looking relaxed and confident, with a spear in his hand and two more across his back. I walked across the sand to him, checking by feel to make sure Memorie's knife was in my belt. I'd left the bow and arrow with our supplies so it wouldn't encumber me during the fight. My sword shone in the sun, reminding me of…everything, really. Training outside with Varius when the weather permitted it. Sparring with other trainees from my district, beating them almost every time. The bloodbath, when I'd dropped the first weapon I'd managed to get my hands on to help Memorie get away.

Neither of us said anything. Quintus lowered his spear into the ready position, blinking steadily at me. If he was worried, he wasn't showing it. I angled the sword across my body, inhaling deeply.

Quintus sprang forward, driving the point of his spear toward my heart. I blocked the thrust with difficulty, forcibly reminded that Quintus was much stronger than me.

I spun away, knowing I'd need to take advantage of my greater agility to with this battle. I was glad of Varius' advice to hold back in training, never showing my true speed and strength even to my partner. This time, I attacked, sliding toward Quintus with my body angled sideways to present the smallest possible target. He knocked my sword away from his chest, but the metal left a deep groove in the wooden handle of his spear.

He darted forward with the spear again, angling toward my head this time. I leaped backward, drawing Memorie's knife from my belt and flinging it toward him without bothering to take aim. While he was occupied with the knife – I thought it might have scratched his shoulder, but no more – I attacked again, this time getting past his defenses and opening a cut along his thigh with my sword.

Quintus reeled, his face twisting in pain, but I'd underestimated him. Instead of falling back as I'd expected, he dove for me, and I had to contort my body in a sort of backwards flip to get out of his way.

I felt the skin holding my stitches in place tear, and blood began to stream down my side. Quintus spared the red rivulet a single glance, confused because he knew he hadn't wounded me, before dashing toward me again, spear raised.

With speed that came from Varius' hand-to-hand combat teaching, I reached forward and snatched the haft of his spear in my free hand, using the momentum he'd put behind it to twist the weapon away from him. The bones in his wrist crunched when he struggled to hang onto the spear, and he had to let go.

I threw my sword away, deciding I wanted the advantage of the longer weapon. My district partner charged me again, aiming for my chest. I raised my spear to block his.

Then he staggered, and the spearpoint drove into my neck instead. It was pure agony, enough to distract me from my torn stitches. When I clapped my empty hand to my neck, I got a palm full of warm blood almost instantly. I could still breathe, so he hadn't severed my windpipe.

Besides, he was having trouble too. Whatever had caused him to trip in the first place – certainly not the minor wound I'd given him – had brought him to his knees. His eyes were wide and, for the first time since I'd met him, frightened.

"What is this, Salotti? Some kind of poison?" His voice grew fainter even during the short two sentences.

I started to shake my head, then winced because of the searing pain in my neck. At some point, I must've fallen to the ground beside him, because I had to look up at him, not down. "No honor in poison," I rasped, and he made a sound that might have been a laugh.

My vision was growing darker, but I strained to focus on Quintus when he spoke again. "Honor. That's stupid. You're just like your mentor: too noble for your own good." He slid sideways, landing on his back on the ground.

Because sitting up was becoming an effort, I joined him. "Nothing wrong with that," I whispered, annoyed that talking required so much air. I was starting to feel dizzy.

"It made us lose the Games," Quintus said, then gasped several times and fell silent. A cannon fired. I smiled.

"At least we broke District One's winning streak," I murmured to myself. I looked up at the sky, which was fading from blue to black. Was it nighttime already?

A darker spot blocked the sun, growing large enough to fill most of my field of vision. Faintly, I heard a voice. I knew it was important – _essential_ – that I listen and respond, but it was very difficult.

"Oh God, Neera! It's okay, you're going to be fine, see? I brought the first aid kit. All you need is a few stitches. Please don't die!" She lifted my head into her lap, and I didn't have the heart to tell her that the new position was hurting my neck.

"Memorie," I sighed. "Tell Varius I said sorry." I thought I should close my eyes, but I was too tired, so I kept looking at Memorie's face until everything went black.


	18. Victorious

I didn't understand why a cannon had fired. Nor did the amplified words projected into the arena hold any meaning. Why was Tesla congratulating me?

I looked down at Neera. _Neera's body_, a tiny voice in my head tried to tell me before I shoved it roughly aside. Neera's beautiful brown eyes were open, staring at the desert sun. Tears began to fall from my own eyes, making small wet spots on the bloodstained material of Neera's shirt.

The sound of footsteps behind me made me jump. Even now, though, my first reaction was to cradle Neera closer instead of drawing the knife she'd given me. Looking up, I saw a uniformed Peacekeeper and a Capitol medic dressed in mint green that looked out of place in the arena. The Peacekeeper put gentle hands under my arms, lifting me upright, away from Neera.

I think I screamed, because the medic flinched and the Peacekeeper tightened his grip. At least, I thought he did, based on the shift of his muscles; I couldn't feel anything through my armor. The medic ran a beeping instrument over my body in a cursory scan and nodded, apparently satisfied that I wasn't suffering from any life-threatening injuries.

Then they tried to turn me away from Neera, toward the waiting hovercraft. This time, I know I screamed. I lashed out at the Peacekeeper, but encountered a protective force field like the one around my body. When he didn't let go, I went limp, using a trick favored by children who wanted to avoid being picked up. The Peacekeeper cursed and heaved me over his shoulder.

That's why I got to watch, upside down, as the metal claw descended from the sky and lifted Neera's limp, bloody corpse into a silver hovercraft. When the hatch closed behind her, I squeezed my eyes shut and began to sob.

The medic must've stuck me with a tranquilizer, because everything faded into cold darkness.

"…like to see you try." An angry male voice jarred me from my drug-induced slumber, and the words were so essentially _Neera_ that I pushed myself into a sitting position, ignoring the searing pain in my left arm.

My bed was in a room with white walls. The room was full of lighted monitors and bustling medical personnel, and, straining the dimensions of the door with his bulk, Varius de Luca. He towered over the Capitol nurses, his sleek crew cut shining like metal under the fluorescent lights. Of course, he saw when I moved. I couldn't imagine him missing any detail of his surroundings, ever.

Waves of smocked medics eddied behind him as he pushed impatiently through their ranks. When he reached my bedside, he seemed even taller, and I shrank as far away from him as the plastic railings of my bed permitted.

For several long moments, he just looked at me. Thankfully, his eyes were green, not brown, so I didn't start crying again. It was a close thing, though, because he carried himself the same way Neera had: alert, prowling, deadly. His hair was even the same rich chocolate-brown as hers.

"Your mentor's dead, District Three," Varius announced. "Died of alcohol poisoning." Even with his meaningfully arched eyebrows, it took me a moment to absorb the significance behind Varius' emphasis on the word _poisoning_.

"When?" I managed to ask, my voice little more than a croak.

"The day he sent a gift to my tribute instead of his," Varius answered, lowering his voice so only I could hear him. "Listen to me, girl!" he snapped, and I realized that I'd have to save my mourning for later. "You mean less than nothing to me, but you obviously meant the world to Neera, because she died so you could live." Varius used the words like a whip, and they lacerated my soul.

Neera's mentor paused as tears ran down my cheeks, and for the first time, he looked contrite. I could see the effort it cost him to make his voice gentle for me, but he succeeded. "Listen," he repeated. "Neera was like a daughter to me, and you were her friend…or something." He lowered his eyes to me expectantly, but I didn't care to elaborate, so he went on. "No one deserves to face what comes after the arena alone. Especially someone like you." His voice was layered with darkness I couldn't begin to fathom.

"What comes after the arena?" I echoed. "I won, I'm the-" I couldn't quite say the word _victor_, although I supposed it was technically true. "The Games are over!" The desperation in my voice was plain even to my ears.

Varius was shaking his head, and the gentleness had finally reached his eyes. He pulled a chair to my bedside – I winced at the scrape of metal over linoleum – and sat heavily. "You have to survive the Capitol now," he informed me. "There's a whole different set of rules here. The good news is, you'll be better suited to this kind of game than I was. Than Neera would have been." Up close, I could see the pain in his face when he said Neera's name. I doubted he even knew it was there, or he would've hidden it.

I opened my mouth to speak, to ask one of a slew of questions tumbling around in my head, but Varius halted my words with an upheld hand. He scanned the room to make sure none of the Capitol staff were in hearing range – he needn't have worried; they kept their distance, scared of him – but leaned closer before speaking anyway.

"You've been in a medically induced coma for ten days," Varius told me, watching as I shivered. "The Capitol is reconstructing your leg, the injured one. It's taking a while because they want it to be perfect. They can't have you walking with a limp or a cane if they want Panem to forget how you won the Games. The orders came from high up. I suspect from Snow himself. They're going to take their time and make sure they get it right."

I forced myself to nod.

"The Capitol is getting impatient, though, so your Victory Ceremony has been scheduled for three days from now. You have two more days in the hospital, then they'll hand you over to your style team and your escort." Varius stood, signaling that my audience was over. "I suggest you practice smiling," was his parting shot.

And he stalked out of the room, leaving the staff in a gibbering swarm around my bed.

I was getting tired of waking in terror or a medicated haze, with nothing in between. This time, I blinked myself awake a little more easily than before. My room was empty of Capitol staff, which was probably good given the choice words I wanted to have with the doctors for putting me under again.

Slowly, I recalled all the things my blissfully unconscious mind hadn't needed to think about. Neera was dead. Flux was dead because he'd sent Neera a sponsor gift. Varius de Luca was, in his own oblique way, trying to help me.

That last thought lent me enough energy to sit up. Fittingly, the first thing I saw was Varius himself, slumped in an uncomfortable-looking chair a few feet from my bed. I hadn't seen him right away, maybe because he didn't have the same commanding presence as when he was awake. Sleeping, he looked older than his thirty-something years, his face lined with emotions I doubted he'd show when he was fully alert.

As I watched, his eyes flicked open, intense enough to make me jerk back without meaning to. Maybe he'd felt the weight of my gaze. It wouldn't surprise me.

"Oh, you're finally awake," he said, not sounding like a man who'd been snoring a few seconds ago. I remembered how quickly Neera had woken up when I touched her shoulder and had to bite my lip to distract myself from the stabbing pain in my chest.

"What do you mean, finally?" I demanded. "How long was I asleep this time?"

"Fifty-four hours," he told me, shooting a glance at the clock above my bed. "It's a good thing the morphling wore off when it did, or they might've had to take you to your prep team while you were still asleep."

I took a few minutes to process that, forcing myself to accept that the Victory Ceremony was going to happen today, and I'd have to look at Tesla and the audience and the cameras and smile as though my heart wasn't broken.

"How well did you know my mentor?" I asked, and it must not have been what Varius was expecting, because he raised his eyebrows before answering.

"Flux Lorrimer?" I nodded, but he wasn't looking in my direction anymore. "I know he hated me," Varius went on, his lips quirking up in a smile. "I killed both kids from his district – your district too, I guess – in my Games. It was early in his stint as a mentor, before he figured out how to drink enough not to care." Varius shook his head in what almost looked like pity. "That's something you'll have to learn," he said, this time addressing me rather than the floor.

"How to get drunk?" I asked, more sharply than I'd intended. "I have no intention of abandoning children from my district when they need me." My voice cracked, lessening the impact I'd been hoping for. The thought of mentoring future tributes from Three was more than I could bear right now.

"How to disconnect your emotions," Varius responded. "You can't take it personally when someone kills one of your kids." His face was so carefully blank that it told me all I needed to know: Neera's death was something he took personally.

_Your kids,_ I echoed. I wondered if I'd come to think of them that way too, all the dead boys and girls I would have to send home from the arena in boxes.

Just then, the door swung open and Luri Dexter, one of the members of my prep team, poked her pale orange head in. "Em?" she asked, her voice hushed as though in a library. _Or at a funeral_, I thought. It took me a moment to realize she was addressing me. I wasn't thrilled that someone from the Capitol was calling me by the nickname my friends at home used, but, on the other hand, it was better than her calling me by my full name, because that's what Neera had used.

"Hi, Luri," I said, pasting a smile across my face. Might as well start practicing now. "Is it that time already?"

"Oh my goodness, yes! We're all ever so pleased to have a victor to dress this year. A victor! From District Three! Can you imagine?" _Not really._ I waved to Varius over my shoulder as I made small talk with Luri. I don't think I imagined the respect on his face when he waved back.

I was a little unsteady on my legs as I followed Luri down the cool white corridors of the Capitol building. It might have been because I hadn't had two working legs since I was ten, or the fact that I'd just spend twelve days unconscious. Either way, it made me feel vulnerable in a way I'd never noticed before the arena.

Still, it was nice not to be carried around by a bored Peacekeeper. I shuddered, the thought reminding me of leaving the desert and Neera disappearing into the hovercraft.

"Don't worry, dear, it's warmer in the remake room," Luri reassured me, misinterpreting my shiver. "Although you might get cold on stage tonight; there's not much to your dress," she confided with a giggle. "Ah, well, we must suffer for beauty, yes?"

_No_, I thought. Also, _You wouldn't know real suffering if it chased you over a field of broken glass with a whip_. "I'm excited to see the dress," I said. "I knew I could trust Serena to come up with something perfect for my Victory Ceremony!" Serena Glass was my stylist. I remembered her as a tall, skeletally thin woman with dark skin and an impatient demeanor. She hadn't been pleased to be dressing the year's most unremarkable tribute. I wondered if she'd warm up to me now.

Evidently, the answer was yes: Serena met me at the door to the prep room with a welcoming smile. "Our dear Em, home at last!" she exclaimed, and I decided I didn't like this woman using my pet name.

"Hello, Serena," I said coolly. "I'd prefer to go by Memorie, if you don't mind."

"Of course, darling, whatever you like," she fluttered. "You must be overjoyed to be out of that awful desert!" She gave a delicate shudder. "You were so brave, dear. When I saw that snake, I nearly fainted!" I bared my teeth in something I hoped she'd take as a smile.

Thankfully, I got to remain mostly silent as Selena turned me over to Luri and the rest of my prep team, who chattered away about parties and makeup, and of course, the Games. Occasionally, one of them asked me a question and I responded in the fewest words possible, then tried to change the subject. It usually worked.

When the effervescent trio deemed me camera-worthy, Serena came back, this time carrying a black garment bag. She unzipped it with a flourish, revealing something short and dazzlingly silver. It was immediately clear that she'd elected to continue the electronics theme, but, to my relief, had done a much better job on the dress than the clunky, awful contraptions we'd worn in our chariot.

She slipped it over my head, turning me to face the three-sided mirror that dominated one corner of the room. This was the moment I was supposed to say _I barely recognize myself_ or something equally clichéd, but it wasn't true. Sure, this probably wasn't how I'd looked to the people watching my performance in the arena, but it's not like I'd had a mirror. And I looked the same now as I had on the night of my interview, more or less. The only big difference was that this dress was short, the better to show off my reconstructed leg.

My prep team outlined my eyes in silver to match the dress. Then they took several minutes to admire their own work, oohing and aahing and telling me how nice I looked.

Their exclamations were cut short when Varius walked through the door without bothering to knock. I took a brief moment to be thankful I wasn't naked before gently shaking myself loose of Serena and the others and walking to Varius.

He didn't seem quite as alarmingly tall now that I wore four-inch silver heels. "You ready, Three?" he asked, eyeing my outfit with an inscrutable expression. "I'm going to walk you downstairs, but you'll be on your own onstage. Normally, your mentor would sit with you, but he's dead."

Well. That was certainly direct enough. "I appreciate you taking the time to show me the ropes, sir," I said in my politest voice. "I would be lost without your help."

Varius snorted. "If you're practicing for all the political shit you'll have to deal with in the Capitol, that's a pretty good start. I'll make you a deal. You stop calling me sir and I'll stop calling you Three."

"It's a deal, s- ah, Varius," I said, shaking his proffered hand.

"Good. Now that that's settled, let's get a move on, Renwick. Panem is waiting." I sighed for what felt like the hundredth time in the past hour and followed Neera's mentor to the elevator.


	19. Rebel

Varius escorted me to the backstage area where I would wait for Tesla to announce me to the audience, clapped me on the shoulder and gruffly ordered me to "keep my chin up" before vanishing, I assumed to watch the Victory Ceremony in private.

I was afraid to sit down in my silver dress before I absolutely had to, so I stood in front of the screen that showed what was happening onstage, watching blankly as Tesla joked with the audience. When someone came up behind me and tapped my shoulder, I jumped and would have twisted an ankle if my surprise visitor hadn't put an arm around my waist to catch me.

"Careful, Renwick. Wouldn't want you to hurt that leg after the Capitol spent such a long time fixing it." It was the compact dark-haired woman I recognized from before the Games as Quintus' mentor. "I'm Allison Romano. It's an honor to meet you, victor." She smirked at me.

I drew myself up, thankful for the high heels that allowed me to look her in the eye. "And you, Allison."

She laughed, but not unkindly. "I'm sorry, it's too soon to joke about that. I know winning isn't all it's cracked up to be. Actually, I came to give you a piece of advice, one I'm assuming Varius didn't think of." I looked at her steadily, unwilling to forgive her that easily. Besides, her tribute killed Neera.

Allison sighed, pushing her a few rebellious curls out of her face. "Don't cry. It'll be hard – it was hard for me, and I'm not the crying type – but you can't let them see any weakness. It'll make it easier for them to manipulate you later." She turned to leave.

I nodded, knowing that she wouldn't see. I'd had no intention of crying in front of the people who'd found entertainment in Neera's death even without Allison's advice. It was nice that she'd cared enough to think of helping me, I supposed.

"Hey, Renwick," Allison said, looking back at me with that smirk spreading across her face again. "Nice dress." And she was gone.

I'd barely managed to school my expression to calmness when Tesla called my name in a booming voice. In a daze, I walked out onto the stage, waving mechanically when the audience cheered.

"Stunning as always, Memorie," Tesla said, bending to kiss the back of my hand. "Ladies and gentlemen, the victor of the first Quarter Quell, Memorie Renwick!" He held my hand up over my head, and everyone applauded for a second time.

Tesla returned to his chair, which I took as a signal to sit down across from him. Gradually, the audience fell silent. When he was sure he had the crowd's full attention, Tesla turned his blinding smile on me and asked, "Tell me, Memorie, what do you think your friend Neera would say if she were here now? Would she be proud of you? Angry? Disappointed?"

The breath left my lungs in a rush. I'd braced myself for all the difficult questions I could think of, and for the certainty of seeing Neera, alive and well, onscreen during the recap of the Games that would follow my crowning. But this…

"I think she'd say 'Hey, District Three, do you think anyone bet on you? Because if they did, they probably own half the Capitol by now!'" My stupid joke got the laugh I'd hoped for, and Tesla moved on. I blinked to keep my tears from falling.

The rest of the questions weren't as bad, and I breezed through them with my prepared responses. Too soon, Tesla announced President Snow, who appeared on the stage wearing dress whites like a Peacekeeper even though he was too young to have fought in the war. He made a brief speech about the glory of the Capitol and the peaceful unity of Panem before presenting me with the sparkling Hunger Games circlet. The golden shimmer reminded me of the Cornucopia, and I fought not to be sick.

Snow retreated back to his thronelike chair and pushed the button that activated the numerous giant projection screens on which the three-hour summary of my Games would be shown. It wasn't all the footage, obviously; the arena was always rigged with thousands of cameras and the Capitol's expert cinematographers chose which shots to broadcast to the districts during the Games and which to compile into a tribute to the victor during the Victory Ceremony.

Like every year, the video started with a view of the twenty-four tributes standing on their platforms around the Cornucopia. It was eerie to know that I was the only one still alive.

Despite my earlier promise to myself, my eyes were drawn to Neera. The camera angle the Capitol had chosen gave the audience a perfect view of her face and mine, since we were standing side by side. Neera looked like the person I'd thought her before the Games, the archetypal Career. Her expression was one of focused determination, every muscle tensed in preparation for the race to the Cornucopia.

Onscreen, the gong sounded and twenty-three tributes exploded into motion. The camera switched to a bird's eye view that allowed me to see things I hadn't from my pedestal. Quintus reached the horn first, snatching up a wicked-looking spear. He spun and hurled it with deadly accuracy at the closest tribute: my district partner, Cody.

I had mourned Cody while I was in the arena, but I took a moment to make myself feel the full weight of his death. Cody was smart. He knew the area around the horn would be a slaughtering ground for someone as small as him, but he'd run straight through the center of the circle anyway, because I was on the other side, and he saw it as his duty to protect me if he could, even though he was three years my junior.

On the opposite side of the horn, Neera narrowly beat Mari and Chenille to the pile of weapons, grabbing a sword I knew I'd be unable to lift. The girl from Four chose a belt of different-sized knives, and, as I watched, plucked the smallest one from its sheath and flicked it toward an olive-skinned boy I recognized as a tribute from Eleven. He went down, unmoving.

Then came the moment that had changed everything. Neera sprinted toward me, ignoring the shouts from her fellow Careers. She dispatched the boy who'd tried to kill me with a single economical motion of her sword. Her partner and the others followed her as she swooped me up, dropping her weapon so she could carry me.

I heard Chenille scream in rage as the girl from District Twelve leaped on her from behind, but none of the other Careers turned to assist her, too busy pursuing Neera. The blonde girl grabbed her attacker by the arm and flung her over her head, impaling her casually with her sword as she ran after Quintus and her other allies.

After Neera outran the Careers, there were several minutes of onscreen calm while the camera showed Neera and I making camp and the Career pack returning to find the Cornucopia picked clean. The next two days of arena time were similar, alternating between shots of Neera finding and killing tributes for their supplies and shots of the increasingly frustrated Careers trying to track their former compatriot across the desert.

I learned it was easier if I only paid attention to the parts of the video that showed things I hadn't experienced myself, things that had happened to other tributes. So I watched with morbid interest as the girl from Nine froze to death, as Glint killed the unlucky girl from Six who crossed the Career pack's path as they hunted me and Neera. It kept me from showing weakness by smiling when Neera first called me Memorie instead of Three, or crying at the horrified look on Neera's face when she broke my arm.

On the morning of our fifth day in the arena, the camera showed the sand by the Cornucopia erupting to reveal the giant sand worm Neera had killed after the feast. The monster descended on Chenille in a blaze of scythe-like teeth, biting off the lower half of her body as she dove out of the way a fraction of a second too late. She continued to scream her district partner's name even after her legs were gone, and Glint scrabbled away in revulsion as she reached for him before the worm dove a second time to devour her torso and head.

That explained why Glint had gone insane.

I saw with relief that the girl from Seven died cleanly at Atlas' hands, rather than being tortured to death by Glint as I'd feared. The final two deaths I hadn't known the cause of happened the day of the sandstorm, the day I'd been poisoned by the snake. One, the girl from Five, was a casualty of the storm, as Neera had posited. The boy from Seven, who was clever enough to dig a shallow pit and pull a sheet of canvas over it, died on Quintus' spear when the Career stumbled across his hiding place. Quintus wouldn't have survived the storm if he hadn't gotten lucky, I reflected bitterly.

And I saw something else, something that threatened to make my tears spill over as none of the bloody deaths had. Despite my efforts to avoid watching scenes with Neera in them, I caught enough glimpses to see what I'd overlooked when I was there in person.

Neera had never intended to kill me.

Well, that wasn't quite true, but it was the closest I could come to an explanation that made sense.

I couldn't point out the exact moment when it became clear that Neera was going to let me live – maybe it was the first time she'd realized the Gamemakers were throwing someone who couldn't walk into the arena – and I didn't know if Neera had ever realized it herself.

When I was in the arena, I'd been too blinded by fear and anger to realize what was happening. That first day, when Neera snatched me off my pedestal, I'd thought the same thing as Leah Meadows from Ten: that Neera was going to torture me for fun.

Later, after I told her about the shopping list and figured out the Gamemakers' trick with the two suns moving in the wrong direction, I'd thought Neera was keeping me alive because she thought I would be a useful source of knowledge.

Eventually, I'd seen that Neera's protectiveness was more than conservation of a valuable resource, but even then, I thought it was just sentimentality, affection for the first real friend she'd had and didn't want to kill until it was absolutely necessary.

Now, seeing events through the objective lens of the camera, I caught all the tiny clues I'd missed before. The way Neera trusted me with a knife on the off chance it would stall any opponent long enough for her to save me. The deep regret in her eyes when she tended my broken arm. Her indignation with the idea that Leah thought she'd be doing me a favor by giving me an easy death. How upset she'd been when the Gamemakers' drug had induced her to leave me alone for the mutts to find.

Those, combined with a hundred other things, left me convinced that Neera was every bit the rebel I wanted to be. She'd done the unthinkable: a Career, trained solely for the Games, she had defied the Capitol as only she could do. She'd made a mockery of the Capitol for anyone who knew how to look, ensuring the victor of the brutal Quell was a girl without a drop of blood on her hands. Me.

Now that I thought back, she'd practically told me what she was planning. When I'd railed against the cruelty of forcing Neera to give herself stitches, she'd hushed me and ordered me never to talk like that again. Why would it matter unless she knew I'd live long enough to face the Capitol's wrath?

And, worse, when she made me promise not to interfere in her fight with Quintus, no matter what I saw or heard. She'd known: known that her district partner was the only one who could give her a close enough fight to make her death look accidental, known that the Capitol would punish me if they figured out that Neera had rigged the Games from the inside.

I'd nearly ruined her plan by giving her my poisoned knife to use on Quintus. If he'd died before giving her a mortal wound, I wondered, would she have simply driven the knife through her own heart next, even knowing everyone in Panem would see what she'd done?

I sat like a statue on the edge of my chair as the film wound to a close and Tesla rose to his feet to acknowledge the outstanding work of the president, the Head Gamekeeper and the more generous sponsors. When I had to stand and wave one last time to the audience, I did so with a wooden expression, knowing that if I tried to put on a fake smile, I'd burst into tears. Or tear President Snow's throat out. That would certainly be a first.

A spotlight followed my walk off the stage, but as soon as I was in the corridor that led to the building where victors lived when they were visiting the Capitol, I leaned against the wall and buried my face in my hands. I knew I should wait until I got back to my new apartment, but I couldn't. I was past the point of caring about reporters and the opinions of Capitol citizens.

This time, when I felt the hand on my shoulder, I managed to look up calmly as if I'd been expecting a visitor. For some reason, I was unsurprised to see Allison standing there, her expression so sympathetic I almost started crying right then.

"Hush, Renwick, you don't have to say anything right now." Allison's voice was gentle. "At least let me walk you to your rooms."

I choked out an "Okay," and she took me by the arm and ushered me into the nearest elevator.

"Your apartment is on the top floor for now, but you'll be moved somewhere else after the next Games. The newest victor always gets the penthouse," Allison informed me as the elevator door slid open. "I'm on two floors down, in room 12B. If you need anything, you can come knock on my door. If I'm around, I'll help you."

I nodded.

"Oh, before I leave, there's one more thing I should tell you. You'll have to mentor tributes from your district starting with the next Games, of course, since there's no one else to trade off with you. I was assuming Varius would here with his own mentee so he could help you figure things out, but he told me he's resigning as a mentor, at least for now. We have enough victors in Two that he can do that, if he wants." She took a deep breath, as if bracing herself to continue.

"I…can't bring myself to leave you without any idea how things work, not when one of our own took such an interest in you. I'll be here for the Games next year, even though it's not my turn to mentor a tribute. I hate the Capitol," she sighed, shaking her head.

"Thank you," I breathed, unable to fathom why she'd do so much to help me. Nothing could ever make up for Neera's death, but at least I wouldn't be completely alone in my grief.

Allison took a step toward the door, then spun back, looking flushed. She stuffed a slip of paper into my hand, saying, "That's my address in District Two. If you want, you can come visit." And she turned on her heel and marched out, the door slamming behind her.

Under other circumstances, I might have smiled. As it was, I walked in the direction of the bedroom, smoothing the crumpled piece of paper against my palm as I went. I knew I was in for months – maybe years – of nightmares, with no Neera to comfort me. The paper was like a talisman, though, and I squeezed it tightly, ready to face this night and all the ones after it.

**End.**


End file.
